


Are You All Right?

by jenigweve



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold in the Dark Castle, F/M, Fluff in the Dark Castle (Once Upon a Time), Rumbelle - Freeform, Sex in the Dark Castle (Once Upon a Time), Sickfic, The Dark Castle (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21901873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenigweve/pseuds/jenigweve
Summary: AU: Rumpelstiltskin limps home after a misadventure in Wonderland, temporarily powerless and in terrible pain, to find his caretaker waiting - and determined to do her job.
Relationships: Belle & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 10
Kudos: 158





	Are You All Right?

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by the many writers in this fandom who keep my Rumbelle love alive, though most of the credit must go where it's due: to the inimitable @badfaery, she who updates her fics religiously on Thursdays at 8:15 EST and who wrote the wonderful line, "he made an extraordinary noise."
> 
> I've been playing with this AU for months and wanted a world in which I could explore Belle actually doing her job. Heads up for smut.

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t remember the last time he’d used his own front door, but there he was, shoving open the entrance to the Dark Castle like some common Prince Charming. His silk sleeves were heavy with rain under the weight of his coat, and his heeled boots tracked an uneven line of mud as he staggered across the flagstones. 

He grimaced. Belle would have a fit over the state of her floors. 

His gaze flickered around the drafty front entry. No sign of his little maid, but that was hardly surprising. It was the vague time between late night and early morning, the sun not due to rise for several hours yet. She should still be curled up under the heap of blankets in her wee bed, warm and safe while he was out being reduced to _this_. Weak, hurting, and powerless -- if only for the moment.

His lips curled into a trembling snarl, his stained teeth bared. _Godsdamned Cora._

Focusing on anger let him ignore the hideous fear pressing in on all sides, crawling over him, threatening to smother him. He waved his hands in the air with a flourish, but nothing happened. The magical wards he’d created so long ago protected the castle and would continue to repel potential enemies. Nevertheless, panic fluttered deep in his chest. How was he to protect himself, much less Belle?

For the first time in centuries, he had no magic. Rumpelstiltskin felt as useless as when he was a mortal man, a penniless spinner bereft of power. He’d even needed _rescuing_ from this latest wretched errand _._

His face burned in embarrassment. The Hatter saved him from Wonderland with his hat-shaped dimensional portal, but Rumpel didn’t stick around to thank him. He threw a gold skein at Jefferson and stumbled away the moment they returned to the Enchanted Forest, already feeling something very deeply wrong. 

Jefferson hesitated, noticing his companion’s obvious distress, but the Hatter’s young daughter awaited him… and the Dark One could take care of himself, surely.

Meanwhile, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such terror as he did that night on the mountain path, staring around the darkened woods with unnaturally wide eyes. It was black as his magical windowless vault, a thunderstorm shattering the night sky overhead and drenching his miserable form. All he could think of was meeting bandits on the road, or perhaps some hero trying to make a name for himself. He was a defenseless Dark One just looking to be slain. 

It felt too much like the night he and Bae had fled from the Duke’s soldiers, the men intent on taking his precious, beautiful, perfect son to the front lines of the Ogre War. The woods had been just as forbidding and cold. 

Pain, he felt that unfamiliar sensation as well — it flared through him as he stumbled along the trail toward the castle. His nerve endings were lit up like they were all individually and collectively on fire. He regretted ever stepping foot in Wonderland, his ex-lover Cora’s domain and prison, but what choice did he have? The visions never changed, no matter the other moving pieces. He had Seen that the Jabberwocky must be slain in order to ensure the success of another deal, and the damn thing was still alive. Apparently, Alice hadn't bothered fulfilling her destiny. 

Rage burned up his throat as he stood in the foyer of the Dark Castle, trembling, dripping water all over the stone floor. It trickled from his damp curls down the back of his neck, the cold making him shiver. There was a sweet, desperate relief in being home, too, he wouldn't deny that, but the bubbling pitch inside him drowned it. Instead he thought black thoughts about one-upmanship and Cora, the so-called Queen of Hearts. She was supposed to be in _exile_ , for Gods' sake, not the ruler of that backward land. 

He stared at his hands. Cora had reflected his power somehow, twisting it back upon him with ever-building force. Her clever machinations were only apparent when it was far too late. The spell had rebounded, and the agony had already begun.

Trying to think of something other than that vengeful bitch, Rumpelstiltskin limped toward the Great Hall and was distracted by the charming sight of Belle’s cloak hanging next to his on the coat rack. An unfamiliar glow warmed his chest, and he realized it was a weak, fluttering happiness. There had been no need for such domesticity since Bae lived with him in the Enchanted Forest, when they’d shared the poorest hut in their poor village. 

He hadn’t come across the castle until almost a century after losing his boy. The massive collection of baubles and treasures grew in pace with the hole in his heart. Rumpelstiltskin could imagine Bae’s reaction to such an ostentatious display of wealth and decadent decor. The lad walked beside him in his mind’s eye, almost a strong young man and standing taller than his papa, his dark eyes troubled beneath that nest of curls. _Do we really need all this, Papa?_

He’d learned the difficult answer to that question.

There were other cloaks, all for Belle, all for varying degrees of cold, lined with layers of cloth and silks and furs. The waif of a girl was used to the weather of Avonlea and shivered at the slightest provocation. He’d given her enough blankets to swaddle a small village when she made a throwaway comment about her bedroom being chilly. A beautiful shawl wove itself from the ether and draped itself across her shoulders as well. He couldn’t have an ill maid on his hands. Really, he was doing himself a favor. 

Sometimes if she left the shawl on the chaise where she liked to read, he pressed it against his scaly face and breathed her in, closing his eyes to better imagine her. 

Longing pulled at his bones. He wished he could watch her sleep, even if he didn’t need to sleep himself. Nothing untoward, of course. He knew Belle was a fidgety, mumbling mess at night from her many times dozing on the chaise, but he wanted nothing more than to rest next to her and share it, curl her warmth around himself, at least for a little while. He spun a fragile, beautiful world of his own making when she napped in the Great Hall. Watching her eyes move behind closed lids, wondering what she dreamed of, was the best way to spend his sleepless nights. More than anything, he wished to reach out with one arm and pull her warm weight close, tucking her head under his chin and pressing her against him, breathing in the sleepy scent of her. 

Instead he’d rise from the wheel and move on silent feet to ease that day’s book from her loose grip before it fell to the floor and woke her.

“Rumpel?”

Belle peeked around the side of an armchair, her long brown curls a curtain against the flickering firelight. 

A tiny joy -- such a _recent_ feeling -- swelled within him, overwhelmed at once by sharp concern. “Why are you awake so late, dearie?” He lurched his way toward her, trying valiantly to keep his gait even. He couldn’t let her worry, Rumpel thought in desperation. Then he remembered he couldn’t magic himself clean. He sighed. _Bollocks._

“Why did you use the door instead of poofing right into the tower?” Raising her eyebrows, she stood and motioned for him to take her place. She wore the plush slippers he’d gifted her; he’d left them at the foot of her bed along with a new nightgown embroidered with some of his golden thread. Rumpelstiltskin swallowed hard when he saw a peek of familiar fabric in the opening of her dressing gown. He tried not to think about how his hands had held the same garment that now touched her. 

Her eyes were puffy and red from lack of sleep, and he focused on glaring at her. She returned his gaze, patient and calm, if exhausted. Then he stepped into the light of the fireplace. 

“What _happened_?” she said, sounding horrified. 

He knew he looked a mess and tried to play it off. “It’s nothing,” he said with a wave of his hand. Drops of water flew off his coat. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

Belle crossed her arms, which was never a good sign. She was gathering steam. “Rumpel, you limped in here. You used the front door. You’re soaking wet. _And_ you look ill.” She peered closer. “You look… well, I suppose not as green as usual. Should I be concerned?”

If she ever felt actual concern toward him, he’d die smiling. “Well, why are you awake? Are you having trouble sleeping?” he fired back, desperate to divert her attention. “What’s the matter?” 

She smiled that tiny, knowing smile. Like she could see past every blustering wall he put up. “I’m a bit more worried about you right now, Rumpel.” And she did look worried. It warred with what looked like affection on her face, but he felt his stomach drop at the thought. She couldn’t possibly. 

Belle’s pallor answered his question, and he glowered. He should’ve noticed. There were dark circles under her eyes, her skin whiter than milk. How long had this insomnia been going on?

“I can’t have a caretaker who doesn’t take care of herself!” 

But she only rolled her eyes and took his arm, guiding him to the chair. Falling into it, he focused on the heat of her hand on his wrist, the tightening of her delicate fingers. He wasn’t too proud to say her touches calmed him in ways nothing else ever had or could. She centered him, grounded him, with just those blue eyes and an upward tilt of her lips. 

Her gentle hands reached out now and bade him to lean forward, helping him shrug off his spiky dragonhide coat that was more water than fabric by now. Belle left it to drip over a chair at the long table and returned to sit by him, balancing on his armrest. The heat of her leaning against him felt like a balm to his cracked soul. 

“What happened, Rumpel?” 

He gave a weak snort, slumping his shoulders. “I don’t see how it’s any of my maid’s business.” 

Belle laced her fingers together in her lap. “Your maid is interested in your welfare.” 

Rumpel shot her an unnerved glance, realizing it had been literal lifetimes since anyone had, in fact, been concerned about his welfare. That thought caused an unfamiliar burning sensation behind his eyes. 

Tears, he realized in horror, blinking hard to clear them away. Bae had been the only other person, _ever_ , to care for him, and his boy had been lost for hundreds of years. Even his marriage to Milah had only been an attempt by a fourth daughter to get a leg up, and for him an expectation of a man in his village. She’d never cared for him and had barely tolerated his advances, even before being branded as a coward. It was a miracle Bae had ever been conceived. Back when the wound to his ankle was horrific and fresh, she'd refused to help him, letting him struggle out of spite and hobble on crunching, broken bones that now hurt like they did when he was just a lowly spinner. 

Cora only ever wanted his power. The idea of her waiting up for him late into the night, of her being _concerned_ , was laughable at best and pathetic at worst. That realization made him even angrier over his current predicament, considering the Queen of Hearts or the Red Queen or whatever the hell Cora called herself these days was the one responsible. 

“Rumpel?”

He sighed. Then his entire body tensed when her small hands rested on his shoulders. Her fingers _burned_ through his mantle and silk shirt, and at that moment he would’ve sold his soul a second time just to know what her skin felt like against his. 

Belle began massaging his shoulders, calming his upright jerk with soothing touches, like she would a standoffish cat. He was entirely too stiff, his back a series of complicated knots. A smirk lit her face. 

“Take this off,” she said, tugging at the high collar of his vest. 

“I -- what?” He sounded dazed.

“It’s too thick. Take it off.” 

Rumpelstiltskin felt like he was moving in a dream as his trembling hands reached for the vest’s buttons. Belle took the mantle from him, setting it next to his coat. Then her hands were back on him, and he did his best not to arch into her touch. He didn’t even notice the screaming of his ruined ankle. 

When was the last time anyone had touched him like this -- like they _wanted_ to, like he wasn’t a repulsive creature, a monster covered in a scaly hide that protected a crippled coward? And when had he and Belle reached this level of comfort between them, he wondered as she worked with methodical precision. Her hands were surprisingly strong, and she dug her knuckles into each spot of tension, changing her pressure according to his breathing and stifled moans. His body was entirely tension, so he could at least enjoy this for a little while. 

Rumpel stared straight ahead at the fireplace. When he dreamed of Belle, during the rare occasions when he slept and each day when he spun at the wheel, it was of brushing touches, furtive looks. He never dared to get closer than that, even in his imagination. 

“So tell me, what happened that hurt your leg?” Rumpelstiltskin could hear a tightness in her tone, a _concern_ , and he kept his gaze fixed upon the flames so he didn’t meet her eyes. The red-hot embers burning up his leg returned to the forefront of his thoughts, and he grimaced. He’d been so well distracted. 

“I assure you, I’m quite fine. I simply fancied a walk this evening.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, _really._ ”

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact you can’t use magic right now?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, suspicious as always. “And how would you know that?”

Belle pursed her lips, trying not to smile. “Because you walked through the forest during a thunderstorm, Rumpel. You aren’t what I would call ‘outdoorsy.’”

He muttered something to himself. 

“What was that?” Belle rubbed her knuckles into the tender spots beside each of his shoulder blades. 

“Nothing.” His chin was almost on his chest at this point, his curls falling around his face. How could she show him such kindness? How could she touch his cursed hide of her own volition?

“Can I do anything to help?”

Rumpelstiltskin hummed under his breath, his eyes closed. “This is already far more than I could have hoped for.” Her hands kept the pain in his body from overwhelming him. It was more than his ankle by now; it felt like every old hurt, every scrape or illness or bruise his corrupted vessel had ever overcome, was returning to punish him at the same time. His muscles ached like he’d caught a flu, and he shivered despite their proximity to the fireplace. 

Her hands stilled for a moment before resuming their soothing motions. “I mean it, Rumpel. I'd like to help if I can.”

“And I only speak the truth,” he said softly. Goblin’s garters, his leg _hurt_. Shattered glass and heated irons were wedged into the ruins of his ankle. He fidgeted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position. Had it always hurt this much, when he was a man? “This is more than I deserve.”

He could sense her confusion, even though he wasn’t looking at her. “What do you mean, ‘more than you deserve’?”

He said nothing. He was trying very hard not to throw up all over his lap. 

“Surely you deserve kindness, Rumpel.” Her arms were around his shoulders in a sort of half-hug, and he allowed himself to lean back against her soft body. She was so warm. He knew she could feel him trembling, and then -- to his utter shock and delight -- she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tighter against her. 

It took a few moments for him to speak, so taken aback was he by her easy affection. He fought to breathe. “Belle…”

“You deserve kindness,” she said. Her lips were right next to his ear, the vibration of her words making him shiver.

Dare he try it? One shaking hand reached up, hesitant, to rest atop hers where they clasped across his chest, and he heard her intake of breath. He thanked the gods he was facing away, unable to bear seeing disgust in her eyes. 

Her skin was so soft. Rumpel tried for her sake not to linger. 

“That helped.” He cleared his throat and lowered his hand. “Very much.” _Coward._

“Did it? I’m glad.” Belle pulled away, which made him flinch, but she wasn’t ending things; she merely returned to massaging his shoulders. Then her hands stole under his curls, her thumbs rubbing the back of his neck and the base of his skull, finding nothing but tension under her fingertips. Rumpel couldn’t help the groan that lodged itself halfway up his throat. 

At that inhuman noise, Belle giggled and stroked his rough skin with the backs of her fingers, so tender a gesture that Rumpel wanted to weep.

“Just relax,” she said, and then her hands were in his hair, fingernails grazing lightly over his scalp _._ Rumpelstiltskin was hellishly aware of his lowered defenses, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was that she might _stop_. She even massaged his earlobes, rubbing them between her forefingers and thumbs like he did his gold. He leaned back into her and sighed in an odd combination of defeat and bliss. 

“I can’t believe how wound up you are,” she said, her thumbs sliding down the back of his neck in repeated motions. It was like smoothing her hands over stone. 

“Well, I haven’t had anyone take care of me in three hundred years,” he murmured. “Stress adds up.” 

Belle was silent, and he imagined she was trying to fathom his terribly long existence. “Is that how old you are? Three hundred?”

He thought about the potential risks of her knowing his actual age and, finding none, finally nodded. It wasn’t like he knew the exact number, himself. “Ish. Three hundred-ish.”

“Ish? Why ‘ish’? When’s your birthday, Rumpel?”

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the topic. His birthday had only ever been celebrated with Bae. A sudden memory of a sticky molasses cake almost made him smile before he felt the familiar breathless stab of agony. Bae had never been a good cook, much less a baker, but he’d tried his best all the same with the meager resources they had. Rumpel ate every last terrible bite, never minding that his teeth were almost wrenched from their sockets. “I know it was sometime in midwinter.”

She fell quiet again, distressed for some reason, and he could almost feel her considering what to ask. To his surprise, she adjusted her seat on the chair and picked up his right hand in both of hers. She pushed back his sleeve and began massaging his forearm, working her way down to his wrist in slow fashion. He could only stare in undisguised awe at this willingness to touch him. She didn’t seem to care that his skin was rough and imbued with glitter, like some sort of otherworldly lizard.

“I didn’t know you could give hand massages,” he murmured at last, in an attempt to fill the silence.

“Do you mean _me_ giving hand massages, or hand massages as a general concept?” Her thumbs ran along his palm while her fingers kneaded the backs of his hand. Then she worked on each long finger, gentling away three centuries of spinning wool into thread and straw into gold.

“The latter,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Anything that collects tension in the body can be made better with a massage,” she said, her tone vague as she worked. “I read about it in the library.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Of course you did.” 

She stopped massaging him, but she didn’t let go of his hand. 

“Have you had no one take care of you, Rumpel?” she whispered. She sounded far too despondent to be thinking about _him._ “In three hundred years?” 

He sighed, thinking of Milah, of Cora, of Bae. All long gone, now. “Ish.” 

They were quiet as she finished his right hand and moved on to his left. He simply allowed himself to feel something beside pain, beside regret, beside guilt. For once, he felt good… comparatively speaking.

After a lengthy silence, her voice piped up again: “What about other things, like a nice warm bath? When’s the last time you did that?”

“I do _clean_ , you know,” he said in a dry tone. 

She laughed, though not at him. He’d never once felt judged by Belle, even during their rough start together. When he’d given her a room, yes -- that had been the turning point. Even at their worst, though, she’d never laughed _at_ him. Now she was here, waiting up for him late into the night, staying beside him, massaging his head beneath the tangle of curls, holding his hand like he wasn’t a monster. 

“So?” she said at length. “Do you just magic yourself clean, then?”

He blinked when he realized that he actually couldn’t remember the last bath he’d taken. They had once been an indulgence for a spinner who’d needed to carry water from a freezing creek in the middle of winter. The rest of the year, he bathed in the creek itself instead of lugging water back to his hovel. It was no matter to see a naked peasant splashing in the water; everyone had bigger problems than a sheep herder in his smallclothes. Then he became the Dark One, and he couldn’t bear to see his loathsome body exposed. 

“You’re right,” he said, looking at her in surprise. “I do.”

“But you’re missing out on such a lovely meditative experience,” she said, sounding both amused and insistent, like she had to try to convince him. “The warm water, the calm, the relaxation… You can read a book and actually be still for once.”

“Who has time for that?” he said in a sing-songy voice that somehow still fell flat. 

“Oh, I don’t know… perhaps a three-hundred-ish-year-old Dark One.” She gripped his hand in a way he knew signaled the end of his massage, and he mourned it inside. Now he could only focus on how horrid he felt. 

At least until she said in a no-nonsense voice, “C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.”

“... What?”

Belle hopped off the armrest and stepped in front of the chair, her hands clasped primly behind her back. “Rumpel, you’re injured. You’re tired. If you could use magic to clean up, I’m sure you would, but for now…” She held out her hands to him. “Let me be your caretaker.” 

She didn’t hold the dagger, but he was inclined to let her order him about. Rumpelstiltskin gritted his teeth as he heaved himself out of the chair. A small sound actually escaped his mouth, and Belle hurried to assist him. He’d forgotten this pain for centuries, and now it seemed louder and more insistent than ever without his magic to keep it at bay. 

“Lean on me,” Belle murmured, and a flash of old humiliation burst through him. Milah had never once offered to support his weight, even when he needed it most. Now his little maid was trying to help, and it struck him as thoroughly depressing that he needed a deal in place for anyone to stay by his side. Everyone except his boy, and he’d abandoned Baelfire to another godsforsaken realm via the Blue Fairy’s magic bean. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted, but damn it all, he wasn’t fine. He was very far from fine. 

Rumpelstiltskin’s peevish gaze landed on his old walking staff. It rested in the corner behind the wheel, a constant reminder of his weaker self. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he debated his options and allowed Belle to tuck herself under his arm and help him hobble out the room, down the hall, up the stairs, to --

“This isn’t the way to my room,” he said, gasping the words. His old wound was punishing him, and the lack of his usual magical fortitude left him feeling weak and shivery, sweaty and nauseous. He hadn’t felt this terrible since his peasant days, perhaps not even then. 

“Correct,” Belle replied as she turned the handle and bumped the door open with her hip. “You need to rest, Rumpel. We can’t make it up three more flights of stairs.” The brilliant spots of pink in her cheeks belied her logical words. 

Belle’s room. He’d never been in Belle’s room. He’d created it for her, of course, attaching it to the internal geography of the castle and furnishing it in almost polar-opposite fashion to the rest of his home. It had been his intention to provide something light, airy… open. 

He’d done well. The walls were a pale blue, the ceiling high. Creamy white curtains were tied back from the enormous bay window overlooking the forest, and there was an explosion of books -- stuffed horizontally and vertically into the enormous bookcase, stacked on the chaise lounge before the fireplace, piled next to the canopied queen-sized bed, some scattered among the pillows _in_ the bed. She bypassed both the bed and the chaise, however, and led him toward the washroom. 

Depositing him to lean against the copper tub, Belle peered into it and frowned. “Will the tub work if you can’t use magic?” 

“The tub’s enchanted,” Rumpelstiltskin spoke in a tart voice, but it held little heat. He clenched his teeth, trying to control the roiling of his innards. He didn’t even realize he was hunched over and shaking because black spots clouded his vision. Which way was the floor? He had a feeling he’d be finding out.

“Rumpel?” Belle peered at his face and then grabbed the wastebasket, shoving it into his hands. He didn’t have time to be embarrassed before his stomach rebelled and he vomited into the bin. 

“Oh, my poor darling,” Belle said, stroking a hand over his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades. She had a damp towel ready, which he pressed over his hot face in mortification. Then he drank the cup of water she handed him, trying to get the taste of death out of his mouth. 

He was so appalled and self-conscious that he almost missed her words. Not even just _you_ poor darling, but _my_ poor darling _._

He’d never been anyone’s anything before. 

Belle still had one arm around his shoulders, and he refused to allow himself to conform to her shape. Embarrassment all but crushed him. 

“Relax, Rumpel.” She kept her gaze aimed at the wall while he spat into the wastebasket. “I’m not going to judge you for feeling ill.” 

His face felt inflamed, and he doubled over, coughing and gasping. Belle kept up the soothing sweep of her hand over his back, her fingertips caressing each vertebrae in his knobbly spine. He was all too aware of that, but he could barely feel the warmth of her through the haze of pain thudding in his body. 

With a start, he realized she was using another wet cloth to wash the cold sweat from his forehead and cheeks. His eyes fluttered closed, tears rising unbidden. He breathed hard through his nose, biting the inside of his mouth as he willed them back.

“What happened?” Belle said, running the cloth over his throat. 

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed once, twice, before he could respond. “I... entered the territory of one whose magic I developed,” he said in a raspy voice. 

Belle frowned, the towel dipping into the bit of his chest revealed by the silk shirt. He inhaled sharply, and they stared at each other. She didn’t comment. “A student? Queen Regina?”

“No, unfortunately.” Wonderland was a terrible place to visit, and he had no desire to discuss his misadventures there. Cora had transformed her prison into a kingdom bound by rules only she understood, making the entire realm a magical extension of herself. If it were anyone else, he might have been impressed. He cut himself off as nausea surged within him again, and he subsided against his little maid with a pitiful whimper. She encouraged him to rest his head against her shoulder, and her fingers went right to his hair.

“But how could a student’s magic do this to you? Surely you’re far more powerful.” 

“‘Course I am.” She giggled, which felt like a major victory, and his low chuckle drew out another smile in response. He would do anything to make her smile, and that realization didn’t terrify him as much as it should have. “Our power is too similar. I didn’t account for how she’d twisted her environment.” He would never admit that oversight to anyone else. “A spell I meant for her blew back onto me. I wanted to… destabilize her. Reduce her. Force her into a position of weakness.” A weak _heh_ fell from his lips. “Did too good a job.” 

Her brow furrowed. “Then why are you in so much pain?”

Even without telling her anything, he’d said too much. He sighed. “My previous life,” he mumbled into her sleeve. “It’s a shock, all at once. I’ll get used to it.”

Her eyes blazed in what he realized was indignation. “You shouldn’t have to _get used to it_. You had to work with pain like this?” At his nod, she sputtered in disbelief. “How could you ever have functioned? How did you make a living?” Belle was furious on behalf of the crippled spinner she’d only met in his most vulnerable moments. Her uncanny ability to view a situation from a different perspective astounded him, and he realized that, should he explain the story of his self-inflicted hobbling, she would understand his reasoning. Perhaps she’d even agree with him -- it'd been his only option. He couldn’t let Bae grow up fatherless.

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the conversation, and was almost relieved when he was forced to bend over the wastebasket again. 

Belle kept wiping his skin with the wet cloth, biting her lower lip. It felt heavenly, but he couldn’t stop his breathing from growing thin and shallow as he tried to control his nausea. Why did he feel like he was on a boat? He’d only been on a boat once, and it hadn’t even left the dock. He didn’t allow himself to think about that day, regardless. 

Belle lifted his curls and rested the wet cloth on the back of her master’s neck, smiling as Rumpelstiltskin moaned in relief. 

“Can I do anything, Rumpel?”

That made him open his bloodshot eyes and glance at her. The room wobbled around him. “What do you mean? You’re already...” He gestured helplessly around the small washroom. 

“There has to be something I can do to help your pain.” Her skin was even paler than it had been upon his arrival, and her blue eyes were fiery. He wondered if she was ill and cursed himself for not noticing sooner. 

Her stroking was rhythmic, slow, hypnotic, and somehow his head was resting against her shoulder again. If he turned his face, he could bury his nose against her throat and breathe her in. 

He couldn’t turn his face. He didn’t dare. 

It took him a few moments to realize he hadn’t responded to her. “I don’t believe so,” he muttered, taking mental stock of his tower laboratory. “Pain tonics don’t work on me. Can’t do a spell until this wears off.” He chuckled, his Frontlands accent thickening in his fatigue. He managed to hide it, most of the time. He found he didn’t care whether she recognized it. “I kicked me own arse.” 

“Pain tonics don’t work?” She sounded appalled. 

He snorted, which he regretted because the back of his throat felt raw and scraped. “Not human, dearie.” 

“What about a bath? A proper one?” They were both perched on the edge of the copper tub, Belle still holding most of Rumpelstiltskin’s inconsiderable weight. 

If his face could have lost color, it would have. “Belle, the impropriety --”

“Really?” She couldn’t hold back her laughter, which shocked him into silence. “ _Really_? You care about that _now_ , Mister Rather-Large-Estate?”

He gave her a tired smirk, though inside he was squirming. “I just need some rest. I’ll be quite fine. You can go back to bed.” Then he would promptly curl up into the fetal position and cry until the nullification spell wore off. Perhaps the pain would distract him from his thorough embarrassment at being caught in this position. 

Belle stood and helped him to his feet, the two of them lurching back into the main bedroom. Rumpelstiltskin clearly thought she was planning to deposit him on the chaise, but Belle shook her head. “Not a chance, Rumpel.”

“But --” 

She stepped away for just a moment, letting him cling to the bedpost for support while she pulled back the covers on her bed and set the books in a neat pile on the floor. Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t stop trembling, feeling hot and cold at the same time. He was bereft without Belle’s fingers in his hair, and his teeth chattered. Then she was back beside him, pushing him onto a soft mattress, his head falling back onto pillows that smelled of his sweet little maid. He felt her wrestling his boots off, taking particular care with his right leg and unlacing the thigh-high boot in its entirety. Blankets were pulled up over him once that was accomplished, and he realized he was being cosseted like a child. 

He hadn’t been cosseted since he lived with the two spinsters as a small boy. He hadn’t even been theirs, but they’d treated him as their own -- unlike his own damned father. Parcae and Morae, they’d tucked him into bed like this. 

Despite his weakness, Rumpelstiltskin almost flung himself onto the floor when Belle lifted the covers from the opposite side and crawled toward him. He stared at her in abject terror. “Belle?” 

“Come here.” She’d removed her dressing gown, and her curves pressed against his unworthy body. He stayed absolutely still while she settled herself, and now he rested his head against her bosom, cradled in her arms. Her fingers burrowed into his curls, her fingernails blissful against his scalp. 

He remained rigid, his eyes wide. 

“Relax, Rumpel.” There was amusement in her tone. When he did not, she sighed. “I’m not going to bite, you know.” 

It took several minutes for his body’s screaming tightness to loosen, for the fight to go out of him. Belle waited, patient as ever. Then, looking as if he expected her to change her mind or smack his hand away, his right arm stole over her middle and held her loosely. 

They were silent for a while, Belle petting him with gentle, rhythmic touches. He fought against the exquisite perfection of being held by her, unable to enjoy it. Why was she doing this? What could she possibly have to gain? He didn’t require this of her. She might be buttering him up for better treatment, extra privileges perhaps, but surely she knew this much was unnecessary. A well-timed hug was enough for a library, after all. He knew her needs were few. Maybe she wanted to visit the village at the base of the mountain? All she needed was to ask it of him. He could refuse her nothing. 

“Rumpel,” she said, and he knew he’d never tire of hearing his nickname on her lips. “Is there a way I can do a spell?”

His lungs shriveled and his heart sank. Magic, then. That’s what she wanted. She wanted his power after all -- _of course she does, she’s just like all the rest --_

“I know I’ve never done it before, but surely you can teach me. Because if I can do a spell _for_ you, maybe I could stop your pain?” She looked down at him, her eyebrows raised. “Is it that magic isn’t working for you right now, or that you can’t do it yourself until the spell wears off? Because if it’s the latter, maybe you can walk me through it. I can be your hands.” 

She seemed so hopeful, her eyes bright. Rumpel’s insides teemed with guilt, an emotion he'd rediscovered the moment Belle moved into the castle. 

Of course she didn’t want his power. She was better than that. 

“It’s -- both,” he said, the words halting. Her body was so warm, so pliant. He cuddled into her beneath the crisp white sheets and heavy blankets, his heart stuttering when he heard her happy murmur. How she did not object was beyond him, given that he was a sweating, shivering mess. “The spell nullified the magical field around me. That means the spells I use to mask old injuries…” He shrugged. “Until the null field wears off, I can neither use magic nor be affected by it.” 

Belle sighed; his nerve endings thrilled when he felt her chest rise and fall. “I was afraid of that. What injuries, Rumpel? Why can’t magic fix it instead of just masking it?” 

He closed his eyes. He could pretend that he was in bed with his wife, the two of them holding each other after a long day. It didn’t matter that she was a young maiden bartered as a sacrifice and he a sorcerer old and broken beyond imagination. Right now, he could pretend that she loved him. He knew that he loved her. How could he not? 

“Rumpel.”

She wouldn’t be dissuaded. “I wasn’t always… this,” he said, waving a trembling hand at himself, his cursed flesh. He hadn’t looked at his reflection by choice in almost three hundred years. His own face still took him by surprise on the rare occasions he caught a glimpse of himself in a puddle or the back of a spoon. “I was a man, before. I don’t remember how old I was when I... Forty? Forty-five?” He only knew the season he was born, not the year. “It was harder to tell back then.”

“You were a man? An ordinary man?” She sounded breathless, and he frowned at the characterization. 

“Ordinary. Weak. _Pathetic._ ” Her fingers stopped moving in his hair, and he silently let out a wail. 

“I’m sure that’s not true.” 

“Dearie, I --”

“Please don’t call me that, Rumpel.” She let out another huff of breath, and he was distracted by the small mounds of her breasts. There. _Right there._ So close to his wretched face. 

It took him a moment to realize what she’d said. “I’m sorry?”

Her tone was almost petulant. “You call everyone that. And you only call _me_ that when you’re upset about something. If I can’t do a spell for you, then I need to know your injuries so I can help you. At least until this wears off.” She stroked his forehead. His cheek. She hardly seemed aware of what she was doing, but the moment her fingertips strayed from his curls, he stopped breathing. She went on, oblivious. “And I’m sure you were never pathetic. Why do you say such terrible things about yourself, Rumpel?” 

She was worried about him. 

Belle had told him as much, but that moment was when he finally registered why she was curled up under the covers with him. She was there because she was worried. About him. She'd gathered him into her arms like something precious, and when his eyes burned again, he couldn’t even stop it. Tears leaked down his craggy, pebbled skin, dampening Belle’s nightgown. 

“Rumpel?” She raised her head, and when she saw actual tears in the eyes of the darkest sorcerer in all the realms, she did nothing but take a corner of the bedsheet to dry his face and pull him closer, one arm secure around him, the other stroking his back. 

He felt like he’d just fallen through a portal into a parallel world where this joyous scene was possible. He was exhausted and battered, emotionally drained, physically ravaged. He hadn’t cried in hundreds of years, not since the early decades after Bae’s disappearance. And never, in all of his existence, had he ever been held like this. Like something cherished. Such a simple thing, and he’d lived without it all this time. Knowing it now, he could never be without it again. 

“When I was a man, I…” He licked his lips, considering words and setting them aside. Her hand stole beneath his curls once again, stroking the base of his skull. He let out a shuddering breath. “An iron hammer. My leg was never the same.” 

Belle was silent. He hadn’t said whether the injury was an accident or a war wound, which left countless possibilities for its occurrence. 

“It never healed?” 

“It never had the chance.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “If I didn’t work, we’d starve.” 

She didn’t respond, and he knew she was trying to fit this new piece into the overall puzzle that was her enigmatic master. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said at last. 

“It’s no matter.” And it wasn’t. He could tell she meant what she said. 

Rumpelstiltskin rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, rather thoughtful now. “I don’t feel pain, normally,” he said. “Nor heat, nor cold, nor hunger. The power of the Dark One sustains me.”

“But you eat,” Belle protested. 

He shrugged before he, the Dark One, cuddled closer to her beneath the covers. “I never did outgrow the habit.”

“I always wondered why you eat little more than a bird.” She stroked the side of his neck, his jaw. He could almost ignore the pain, but then he jolted, crying out and clutching at her with a whimper. 

“What if we tried something else?” Belle said, sounding desperate. “Whiskey? Enough to numb the pain until the spell wears off?” 

“Belle,” he gasped, her nightgown gripped in his tight fist. 

“I can get some,” she said, shifting under the covers, but he clung to her. 

“No!” he said, his eyes wild and afraid. “Please, no. Stay.” 

He was shaking again, breathing hard, sweat breaking out all over his gray-green skin. His lips were pressed together, choking off any sounds that might slip out, though he couldn’t stop trembling. 

“Hey,” Belle said in a soft voice. “Hey. Look at me.”

His reptilian eyes were tremendously vulnerable, the pupils blown out and the whites bloodshot. 

“It’s going to be all right.” She took the sheet in her hand and pulled on it for some slack so she could wipe his face, his throat. His eyelids fell closed and he melted against her, letting his breath out as a long, extended groan. She did as much as she could without moving from underneath his warm weight. Rumpelstiltskin’s right arm was still thrown over her, his hand clutching her nightgown, his head still resting against her chest, his body wedged alongside hers. 

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered at length. 

Given his tendency to dance around the issue and play with words, Belle was visibly surprised by the direct question. It stole her breath for a moment before she cleared her throat. “I can’t stand to see you hurt.” 

The gears turned in his head, prodding her response for weaknesses from all angles. Belle wasn’t required to be his literal caretaker. More so, she should’ve been in bed, unaware of his return home. He could’ve patched himself up as he had for so long. But she’d stayed awake… waiting for him.

For what possible purpose? He moved from one argument to another, his gaze flickering back and forth as he looked at things inside his head. Belle was a bright woman, unnaturally so. Surely she understood how little was needed for him to follow her anywhere. 

Perhaps it was her innate kindness. She had to do good, for goodness’ sake. Because she wanted to be a _hero_. 

… It wasn’t heroic to play nursemaid to the beast of the Dark Castle. 

Belle was silent as Rumpelstiltskin worked through the schematics on his own. Her hand, seemingly unconscious of the movement, returned to thread between his curls. 

“You keep playing with my hair,” Rumpel murmured. It was easier to discuss this new habit of hers than to face the real issue. 

She froze, and he tensed in response. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” Internally, he rejoiced when her delicate hand started stroking his hair again. 

“It’s softer than I’d imagined,” Belle said. Their voices were quiet, befitting the mood. Everything felt warm and sleepy and hazy around the edges. 

“What is?”

“Your hair.” He felt her rub some strands between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s so soft. And your skin isn’t what I expected, either.”

Shame washed through him at the mention of his _otherness._ He wanted to be a man for Belle. He wanted to go back to the man he’d been. 

“It’s soft, too. I should have a better adjective, but I don’t.” She smiled and shook her head. “Your neck and shoulders, for instance…” She ran her fingers over his throat, and he felt a very different sort of shiver. “So soft. And your hands, they’re so similar to mine.” She pressed the palm of her hand against his, leaving him reeling when she entwined their fingers. “Just a different color.” 

He raised his head to meet her eyes, arching a brow. “It’s a bit more than ‘a different color,’ sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out, and he held his breath, awaiting her response.

“Oh, hush. You’re always looking for things to be worse than they are.” He could hear the pleased smile in her voice, and he sagged in relief. “Your skin is just a different color and a different… texture.”

“Texture,” he said, feeling half drunk and fully exhausted. “Ah, is that what it was?”

“I happen to like your skin color, Rumpelstiltskin.” She was petting him again now, and he focused on that rather than her astounding statement. 

When he didn’t say anything in response, she raised herself up on one elbow to meet his eyes. “Really? All right, let’s try this again. Ask me why I’m doing this.” 

He took a deep breath, and then another. He’d never felt less like the Dark One since he’d taken the dagger. This type of fear was something he’d never expected to experience again. And this feeling swelling within him was bigger than anything he’d ever known. “Why…” He closed his eyes, unable to see any rejection. “Why are you doing this?”

Nothing for a moment. Then, her hand was against his cheek. He leaned into the touch, desperate, grateful for anything she would give him. 

“Because I can’t stand to see you hurt, Rumpelstiltskin.” She gathered him against her, sounding close to tears. Dismayed, he clutched her tighter. “I have to help you, if I can.”

“But _why_?”

Belle sighed. “Because I care for you, Rumpel. I hurt when you hurt. I don’t need a reason to want to help you.” 

He stared at her before forcing a hollow-sounding laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

Rumpel still didn’t move from her arms, though. He couldn’t bring himself to be the one to end this unexpected, glorious embrace. 

She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Is it that hard to believe I could like you?”

He didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. His expression told her everything he was thinking. 

She tried another route. “I stayed up tonight because I missed you, and I was worried about you.” He hadn't even blinked yet. Belle sighed again and continued. “Why was I worried? Because I care about what happens to you.”

Of course it was hard to believe. He’d stolen her from her family, her kingdom, and forced her into servitude for his own amusement. He’d kept her in a dungeon for weeks, her breath misting during the long cold nights spent shivering under a single blanket. He’d screamed at her and ordered her about. And now she said she _cared_ for him? What did she want? What _could_ she want, beside her freedom? He’d suffer being a lovesick idiot, but never again would he be a fool.

His response was as much of a growl as he could manage, swaddled up like a kitten. “Impossible, dearie.”

Belle grumbled something as she slipped from underneath Rumpel and out of bed; he couldn’t stop the sound of protest he made or the way he reached after her, no matter how unaffected he wanted her to think he was. Standing next to the bed, she was exposed to the cold in the room. His mouth dried when he noticed her hard nipples poking through her nightdress. 

He wanted to run his tongue over her nipples and listen to her moan for him. He wanted to suck on her breasts, worshiping her with his mouth. He wanted to kiss her beautiful lips until he ran out of air.

Startled, he swallowed. “Where are you going?” he finally croaked, trying to regain his sanity. She was still fully covered and all he could think of now was him and his lovely lass, bodies wound together in all kinds of sinful positions. The majority of them were ones he’d never tried or even known to exist before he became the Dark One; his predecessors had provided a lengthy education. Until his failed tryst with Cora, he hadn’t paid those lessons any mind. Thank the gods he was on his side and his shame hidden from view. 

“Getting some provisions,” Belle replied, retying the belt of her dressing gown and paying no mind to her chest as she shoved her feet into slippers. Turning to the bed, she reached out and put her hand on Rumpel’s forehead. He moaned as her heat washed over him. “You’re burning up. No wonder you’re shivering.” She frowned at him and put her hands on her hips. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you? For the pain or the fever? You never answered me about the whiskey.” 

His mind was awhirl as she took in his blank face. She had to want something. What could she want? What was she trying to get? All the while, there were her nipples. 

Her freedom, of course. 

“Rumpel. Whiskey. Yes or no?”

He shook his head, dazed. 

“All right.” She was disappointed, biting her lower lip. He wanted to bite it for her. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” 

That actually elicited a rusty chuckle, which prompted a brilliant, dazzling smile in return. He was even more disoriented in the light of her happiness, and it felt like he could see her after-image stamped on his eyes once she left the bedroom. 

Belle was a good, kind person. Probably would’ve been a hero, had her circumstances been different. She had that spark in her soul, that driving desire to do good for others, without thought of personal gain. And now she cared for her beastly captor. It was a testament to her ability to see the good in everyone. 

He couldn’t keep her prisoner. Not anymore. 

That might’ve been her plan all along: kill him slowly with gentle kindness, then take advantage of his weakness. He felt eclipsed by her goodness and was drowning in her purity. 

Rumpelstiltskin drifted, keenly feeling the loss of Belle’s soft body pressed against his, her curves soothing his sharp edges and warming the sheets, which were now uncomfortably damp with cold sweat. He must have fallen asleep, because his little maid returned before long.

“Rumpel, how are you feeling?” She carried a basket filled with clinking bottles and hoisted it upon the bed. He did his best to extricate himself from the blankets, but was dismayed to find that he literally hadn’t the strength. Every square inch of his body was aflame. He couldn’t decide from moment to moment what hurt the most. 

Belle helped him sit up, propping several pillows behind him and dragging the basket up onto the duvet. Rumpelstiltskin peered inside, poking through the bottles with a dark-nailed finger. 

“These won’t work, Belle.” He picked up one bottle, a potion he’d made a few years before that cured physical maladies. “None of these will.” 

“Oh.” Belle seemed deflated, and he wished he could say something to bring back that smile. “What about this? For your nausea?”

She used a handful of blanket to pull one bottle out of the basket. Rumpel recognized the container he'd enchanted to stay hot for hours on end for when she wanted tea while picking fruit in the garden. She poured steaming liquid into his customary chipped cup, and he realized it was ginger tea.

“Yes, that will work. Thank you,” he said, the words unfamiliar. That _did_ get a smile, though not as much of one as he’d hoped for. He would have to try harder. 

Beneath the bottles was a towel and a folded set of fresh clothes. Strips of fabric were bunched under that. Rumpelstiltskin drank while Belle set out the rest of the items with the steady precision of a field medic. He realized that was what she must have been before he’d sent the ogres away. Hers was a small duchy; everyone would have needed to pitch in. 

“Slowly,” she said, fixing him with a hard look as he slurped at the tea. “You’ll make yourself sick.” 

Naturally, he chose that moment to choke. He coughed a few times, sputtering, before he managed to lower the cup. “Your bedside manner needs some work.” 

“I’ll put that on my to-do list. Now.” She tugged at his silk sleeve. “Take your shirt off, Rumpel.” 

He stared at her before saying, “Excuse me?”

Belle looked quite matter of fact as she crossed her arms, drawing even more attention to those perky nipples. He glanced down, his face flushing. “You sweat through your clothes and into the bed. I’m going to change the sheets, too. We’ll get you cleaned up and into a fresh pair of nightclothes. Then you’ll feel much better.” 

Just when he was about to argue, Belle said, “I’m also going to bind your ankle. I learned how, during the war. That should help, shouldn’t it?”

Buried under the covers of his maid’s bed, Rumpelstiltskin considered his options. He thought about what he wanted, what was right. As always, those two things did not overlap. 

“I release you from our contract, dearie.” 

Belle’s head whipped up from where she was rearranging the basket, startled. “What?”

“Go. Leave. See the world like you've always wanted.” It felt strange to give orders while curled up in his servant’s bed, but she was never his servant. She was so much more than that. If anything, he lived to serve her. When she left, he would stay in this room, he decided. He would be among her things until the scent of her in the bedding faded. Then he'd probably crawl into her wardrobe to be among her clothes, just to pretend he was close to her. As close as they’d been during this wonderful middle of the night. 

“Rumpel, you have a fever. You don’t know what you’re saying.” She sounded… unhappy. Unhappy? His heart beat faster. 

“You are _free_ ,” he said, speaking louder. “You can go home. You can marry that idiot fiancé. It’ll be like this bad dream never happened.” His accent was as prominent as it’d been in his youth and he turned his face away, unable to meet her eyes.

When she remained silent, he dared to crack an eye open. She’d lodged a hand in her hair, her expression a strange mixture of exasperation and anger. “Rumpel, this is really inconvenient timing.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I don’t have an idiot fiancé.”

“Of course you do. His name is Gaston and he’s seven feet tall and he wrestles boars for fun.” He had to avoid her gaze; this was too much to bear. Her _kindness_ was too much to bear. He struggled to reach the bedside table, busying himself with the empty teacup. His hand trembled violently and the cup fell to the bedspread. Concerned, Belle hurried to retrieve it. 

“Are you all right?” 

“Why do you care?” he whispered, sounding absolutely broken. “You’re not my caretaker anymore. You’re free.”

“Because I _am_ your caretaker, and I don’t need a reason to _care_ , Rumpel!” She almost yelled the words. “Of course it isn’t logical. You dealt for me. You took me from my kingdom and my family.” His head dropped in shame. He wished, somehow, that he could go back, that he could meet her under normal circumstances. He would never be able to rebalance that scale, no matter what else happened between them. Even if he spent the rest of eternity serving her, he would never overcome having dealt for her charming presence in his castle. 

Meanwhile, Belle was still firing away. “I _should_ hate you, but I don’t. I could never.”

“I locked you in a dungeon,” he said in despair, pressing the heels of both hands to his eyes. 

She bit her lip, smiling. “Just for two weeks.” When he didn’t respond, she reached out to pull his hands away from his face, regaining his attention. “Have you ever stopped to think about what you _gave_ me in that deal?” 

When he shook his head, baffled, her expression hardened. “My idiot fiancé doesn’t wrestle boars for fun, Rumpel. He tortures ogre children.”

He let out a slow breath, thinking back on it. Yes, that had been the inciting moment, the start of the Third Ogre War. The same war that had taken Belle’s mother and so many of her countryfolk, and the reason he’d been called. 

“So you let me out of our contract?” She shrugged. “Thank you very much. If I choose not to leave, what then?” 

“ _Belle_.” All of his desperation was evident in that one word. “Please.”

“Please, what? Please leave? Please stay? Please help me?” Belle, her own woman in every way that mattered, got onto the blankets and crawled close enough to grip his upper arms and shake him, just once. “Rumpelstiltskin. I fully acknowledge the gravity of what you’ve offered me.” Her smile was so pure a thing that his blackened heart twisted in pain. “I am rejecting it. You promised me forever. You might release me, but I do not release you.” 

He sucked in a breath, his chin trembling, feeling like he’d been punched. He had given her an out, and she wanted to stay. She wanted to _stay._ Not because of a deal, but for him. 

“You want to… be here. With me.” He couldn’t comprehend this, and he felt he had to stress what was at stake. It was an outcome he had never anticipated because he’d thought it impossible. “Rather than travel the world and have adventures, you want to stay here, in this drafty old castle, with _me._ ”

“Well, I’d still like to see the world, of course. But…” To his astonishment, a lovely flush bloomed in her cheeks. “I think it’d be better with company.” 

Rumpel stared at her, his eyes enormous and his skin taking on a sickly gray undertone. 

“Rumpel,” Belle said, “think about my role in Avonlea. I was royalty, destined to marry a brute who cared nothing for books or knowledge or adventure. I’d be sent to a drawing room with needlepoint. I’d give him sons, and many of them.” Rumpelstiltskin looked down, his own cheeks darkening. “Gods forbid if I were to have a girl. I’d never be able to learn, or speak my mind, or do what I wanted. And what I want to do, Rumpelstiltskin, is be here at the Dark Castle, with my library, and with you.” She tapped the end of his nose.

The sorcerer was flabbergasted, and she took advantage of his stunned silence to continue speaking. “I’d like some freedom over my movements, I suppose. I’d like to visit the village from time to time. Maybe see my father someday. But I have no desire to leave.” She bit her lip, trying to hide a smile. 

The silence stretched on until Belle gestured toward the clothes she’d brought. “So, can I…?”

“Can… what?” Rumpelstiltskin’s expression was an endearing mixture of confusion and dizziness. The monosyllables were quite unlike him, but he was also overwhelmed, feverish, and in exquisite pain. 

“Clean you up. You can take off the shirt to help this process along.” Her lower lip was caught again, her eyebrows raised. 

His breathing was shallow now, his face more confused than ever. 

“Unless you’d like to do it yourself?” Belle made to offer the washcloth to him, and he felt agonized with indecision: turn her down, struggle to manage, and be left to wash himself. Accept her help, be comfortable, and have her hands on him again. All over him. His anxiety was palpable, his longing even stronger. 

She saved him from having to say anything by hopping off the bed; he was obviously dismayed by her distance. “I’m just going to get some water,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. He clutched at her, their fingers tangling. He didn’t release her for several breaths, and she let him take his time. Stroking her thumb against his palm, Belle smiled. “I’ll be right back.” 

Could she tell how long it had been since anyone had _stayed_? Nobody stayed. Everyone Rumpelstiltskin loved eventually left him. He’d given her freedom, adventure… and she’d chosen to stay. To remain at his side, to care for him. 

He was beyond tears at this point. When Belle hurried back into the bedroom and clambered onto the bed, he all but collapsed against her. 

“Don’t be afraid, Rumpel,” she said in a soft voice. And he was, he was so afraid. Not just of her being repulsed by his appearance, but of her seeing this much of him and being this vulnerable before her. She didn’t want his power. She didn’t want her freedom. She wanted… this, whatever this was. A different sort of freedom. 

When Belle reached for the hem of his silk shirt, Rumpel didn’t move. He did meet her eyes, though, and gave her the slightest of nods. She ended up doing most of the work, as he was still weak as a rag doll. He couldn’t help but flinch when she pressed the wet washcloth to his forehead. 

“It’s all right,” she whispered. To his great relief, she wasn’t taking the time to survey his torso, which beside being covered in glittery green-gold skin, was trim, almost gaunt. He’d seen her hulking fiance. For as boring as he was, Gaston wasn’t terrible to look at. There was a reason Rumpelstiltskin wore such outlandish, distracting clothes; he knew there was little enough beneath them. Belle kept her gaze focused on his face, which -- while not aesthetically _better_ than the rest of him -- was at least something he was used to. That was the only way he wouldn’t hyperventilate. 

Cleaning the sweat and grime of the evening from his face and neck felt divine, so he decided to focus on that. Her efforts left him shivering again in the night air, so Belle took turns with a wet and dry cloth.

“Your skin sparkles in the light,” she murmured. “You never look the same.” 

Rumpel was about to make a rude retort when he realized she sounded… pleased. 

When she reached his collarbones, she met his eyes again, asking for permission. After several breaths, he nodded. 

He trembled when she ran the cloth across his shoulders and swept down his chest. She moved by his flat nipples as lightly as possible, but that seemed to have the opposite effect on him than she intended; he inhaled sharply, his eyes widening. 

Belle froze. Then she continued, inching her way around him on the bed and having him lean forward so she could reach his back. When she swiped the cloth over his taut belly, he actually let out a small titter. 

Looking at him askance, Belle grinned. “Ticklish?” 

He thought of tickle fights with his young son that had happened so long ago, before he was the Dark One. After he’d taken that power, there was no more silly tickling. Hardly any laughter, either. “Don’t you dare.” 

She huffed an exaggerated sign, trying not to smile. He adored her just-before smile, the purse of her lips and the mischievous light in her eyes. “Another time, then.” 

Everything about this miraculous late-night, early-morning meeting was something Rumpel had never foreseen -- and he was a seer, for Gods’ sake. He’d never seen anything where Belle was concerned, but even just the likelihood of Belle saying “another time, then” was miniscule. “Another time” insinuated that there would be _another time._

He smirked at the thought. A tickle fight with the Dark One. Only his brave, beautiful girl would think of such a ridiculous thing. But then, that was part and parcel of what she brought to the castle. 

Belle had stayed, despite his offer of freedom. She was washing his cursed body with something like reverence, her eyes filled with so much interest and eagerness, like he was beautiful. Something worth touching. There was not a hint of revulsion on her face. Even Cora had kept her eyes closed most of the time they were intimate. 

Belle was thorough. Torturously slow. At the same time, agonizingly fast. There would never be enough time in the world for this. When she reached his waist, Rumpelstiltskin realized that _Belle_ was breathing fast. _Belle_ was flushed, her lips parted. Her blue eyes were darker than he’d ever seen them. 

“Rumpel?” Belle said at length. 

He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“I’d like to make a deal.” 

That word jolted him, bringing him out of his trance. “What?”

Her smile was a dark, wicked thing, and his heart began to race. “When two people each have what the other wants, a deal can always be struck. That’s what you say, is it not?”

“And what would you like?” Rumpel said, unable _not_ to ask. His voice was hoarse. He’d already offered her freedom. What else could she ask for? Maybe now he would finally understand this woman. 

Belle bit her lip, but she couldn’t hide her smile. 

“I’d like to get these leather trousers off so that I can clean you properly.” She smiled wider at the strangled noise coming from her former master. “I understand you’re uncomfortable with this, so I’d like to offer something. In solidarity, if you will.” She looked a little too pleased with her own logic. 

This was beyond him now. 

She tilted her head and blinked innocently. “The price of the deal is the deal itself. There’s a certain harmony to that.” 

She meant… He narrowed his eyes. She couldn’t possibly. 

“Belle.” He said her name seriously, like he had to talk her out of this. Maybe he did. Maybe she was a very functional blind person who had no idea what he looked like and just hadn’t mentioned her disability for the better part of a year. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” 

_That_ earned him a dangerous look, proving she could most certainly see him. He pressed himself back into the pillows in an attempt to retreat. “Why do men always think I can’t choose for myself?” Belle’s tone was icy. “I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions. Rumpel, your clothes for mine, yes or no?”

Two spots of red blazed in her otherwise pale cheeks, and she lifted her chin, defiant. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Something between a squeak and a wheeze was the best he could manage. 

So he nodded. 

She huffed out a breath and gave him a rueful smile, her irritation visibly ebbing away. “It would make you more comfortable, wouldn’t it?” She placed her hand upon his cheek again, her thumb stroking back and forth. He sighed and leaned into her, wondering what gods existed who granted such things to him, perhaps the most undeserving of all. “It would make you more comfortable to be distracted.”

Distracted. Yes, if Belle removed her nightgown, if she bared herself to his worthless gaze, he wouldn’t notice if he were set on fire. He’d imagined what she might look like beneath those dresses from the moment he first saw her, but his thoughts always skittered away at the last moment. 

He made an extraordinary noise when Belle’s fingertips reached for the ties of his pants, but she didn’t pull away. She merely waited. 

“Rumpel?”

When he couldn’t speak, Belle nodded, trying not to smirk. “I see.” She leaned back, removing her hand from his waist. He did make a sound then: a thin whine of dismay. 

“I’m just upholding my end of the bargain,” she said. Rumpel didn’t blink as she shimmied the nightgown up her legs and whipped it over her head, revealing herself all at once like she was jumping into a cold lake. She wasn’t wearing knickers. All of a sudden there were small, perfect breasts before him, a thatch of delicate curls, and his mouth was so dry that he couldn’t swallow. She tossed the nightgown onto the floor and faced him again, her cheeks bright red. 

“All right?” she asked. She caught herself hunching forward, so she forced her shoulders back. Her blush ran all the way down her chest.

“Yes,” Rumpel breathed. When she moved toward him again, ever so slowly, he froze.

“What is it?” she said. 

He had no idea how to answer her. The source of his distress had to be apparent, because at the first sight of her creamy skin, he’d become harder than he’d ever been in his long, pathetic life. He’d only just barely hidden it in time with his shaking hands. 

When he blushed, the skin on his cheeks darkening, Belle inched closer to him. 

“Rumpel,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper, “it’s all right. Just look at me.” He took a deep breath and willed himself to gloss over her midsection and fix his gaze on her face. She pursed her lips, not bothering to hide her amusement. “I mean, you can _look._ It’s fine.” When he still didn’t, she sighed and tilted his head so his eyes could only see her breasts. 

Staring at her marvelous body, he wiggled his hips to help her pull the tight leather pants down his legs, holding his hands over his burgeoning erection. It ended up being more yanking on her part, because the pants had been sopping wet and then partially dried before he sweat through them again. He kept his eyes fixed on Belle’s breasts as they lifted with the movement of her arms, so close to him, close enough to touch. He wanted to lean forward and take a nipple in his mouth, suckling on her with single-minded purpose. But that wasn’t part of the deal, so he stayed his hands right where they were. Instead he imagined kissing her breasts, laving her nipples with his tongue.

It was too quiet. Why wasn’t she saying anything? Adrenaline sped through him as his heart began to hammer in panic. He closed his eyes. She had to be regretting this decision. She couldn’t possibly be pleased by his horrific form --

The feeling of a warm, wet cloth on his thigh shocked his eyes open, and he realized with a start that Belle’s face was alight with wonder. Her breathing was shallow as she ran the cloth over his thighs, brushing around his straining cock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an erection like this. Now his entire body strained toward her, eager to run his tongue over her perfect skin, desperate to plunge inside her as deep as he could go.

Surely she noticed it. The thing was _right there_ , hidden just barely by his shaking hands _._ But she continued washing him, so gently, cleansing his calves and his left ankle, barely touching the right, where the bones lumped oddly beneath his skin. He’d never so much as removed his boots in her presence before, not even when he spent the evening by the fireside.

She smiled as she inspected his black-nailed toes.

“Your feet,” she said happily. 

He cleared his throat, trying to focus. “What about them?”

“They’re… so normal. You look like any other man.” 

That prompted an incredulous snort. “Hardly.” 

“Oh, I think so. They’re not webbed.” Lowering his foot, she sat up on her knees and prodded at his hands. “I need you to move those, please.”

“Belle!” he gasped, his voice strangled.

“Rumpel,” she said. “Please.” When he didn’t move, she said, “Please let me take care of you.” 

It was her tone more than anything that made him comply. It was… devotion. Simple, utter devotion, such as he’d never had from anyone he’d loved. He didn’t know how he even recognized it.

He lifted his hands away, trembling, and cried out when she swept the damp cloth over his cock. She followed it with her soft hand, her fingers running gently over his pebbled skin. He could only endure it for a few moments before he reached to cover her hand with his, moving them together in slow strokes before letting go. She continued unaided, her expression full of triumph. 

“So _that’s_ how you do it,” she breathed. 

His mind was aflame. They were naked on his maid’s bed, his maid appeared positively inclined toward this development, and she was stimulating him to a rapidly approaching completion. “Belle,” he said, urgent. Her grip was more confident now, especially as she drew forth more and more anguished sounds from him. “Belle, _please_!” 

He couldn’t keep his eyes from her breasts, the delicious flush of exertion blooming in her skin. What was _happening_? Gripping the sheets, he squirmed beneath her, his hips almost bucking into her hand. Her unoccupied fingers curled around his balls, the hesitant touch sending his soul crashing through the ceiling and out into the night sky, and he came so hard his eardrums bulged. His seed spilled over her hand, on his thighs, the blankets, everywhere, as if he hadn’t come in decades. Which, before Belle had arrived, he hadn’t. 

By the time it was over, he could neither move nor breathe. His entire body felt turned inside-out through his balls. Belle was a maiden, she’d hardly been exposed to such base, brutish activities before. She was going to think him an absolute beast, just like Milah, and she wouldn’t let him touch her ever again --

Light fingertips on his chin made him open his eyes. Belle held his face in her hand, helping him focus. Far from finding her disgusted or angry, he saw concern. “Are you all right?” she whispered. 

He still couldn’t speak and just stared at her. She furrowed her brows. “Rumpel? Say something.” 

That startled him into a weak laugh, and Belle relaxed. The best part about being with Belle was the laughter, he thought idly. That and all the touching. Up until today, he had been satisfied with the brush of her hand against his shoulder or her fingertips touching his as she handed him a teacup. The reality -- and her unfathomable eagerness -- far surpassed his dreams. 

“ _Something_ ,” he replied, his voice hardly more than a Frontlands slur. Now that he had allowed himself to feel the aftereffects of his world-shattering orgasm, all strength seeped out of his body. He slumped back onto the duvet, luxuriating as Belle returned to cleaning him with the cloth.

She rolled her eyes, chuckling. They fell into a companionable silence, though it wasn't long before Belle started fidgeting. 

“Did I do it right?” she finally asked in a quiet voice, and Rumpelstiltskin managed to drag himself to his elbows so he could stare at her, aghast. 

“Belle,” he said. “I -- I haven’t felt that… _that…_ ” He shrugged, at a loss. “Ever?” 

She went pink at his words, looking slightly smug. “Good.” The way she worked her mouth indicated she had more to say, and he waited in silence until she said in a rush, “Any constructive criticism?” 

A quick head shake sent his curls bouncing. “One doesn’t question a gift from the gods, dearest.” He collapsed back onto the covers with a grin, throwing an arm over his eyes. Belle giggled and slipped off the bed. Rumpel was surprised to feel her tugging on the blankets, shifting him closer to her with a grunt of effort. 

Lifting his arm to watch her, he raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Changing the sheets,” she said like it was obvious. “And I’ll need you off the bed so I can do that.” 

He was inclined to complain, feeling so languid and post-coital, but the blankets were also damp beneath him. It would be nice to feel clean all around. In a combination of him wiggling and Belle pulling, he reached the edge and flopped over the side like a beached fish. He slung his arms around the bedpost while Belle made quick work of the blankets. Rumpel tried to ignore the fact he was stark naked and arranged himself so his unmentionables were at least out of view as he waited, balancing on his left leg. 

He tried to ignore the fact that he was fully nude for the first time since his conversion from a peasant to the Dark One. From the moment he’d taken the dagger and felt the curse rotting through his skin, Rumpelstiltskin had been horrified by his own complexion, his ruined teeth, his unnatural eyes. He had spent a full day staring at his warped appearance in a mirror, trying to accept what he’d become. That hadn’t worked, so it was doubly convenient that Regina insisted on using mirrors to spy because he had a ready excuse to keep them covered. He changed his clothes and cleaned himself with magic; why bother undressing? He hid his repulsive body under layers and layers of clothing, knowing it was just another form of armor. 

Not a moment too soon, Belle assisted Rumpel back into bed. She had him sit on the edge and reached for the binding supplies, splinting his ankle with just enough tightness to provide support while not cutting off circulation. She tugged the counterpane around his shoulders to keep him warm and modest in the meantime, for which he was grateful. 

“I wish you’d been around during the war,” he said, gazing down at her. Belle still hadn’t dressed, and he wanted to enjoy the view for as long as he could. He wondered why it wasn’t awkward between them, considering their respective states of undress and his recent orgasm at her capable hands. Instead of feeling different, it felt comfortable. Right, even. “It might’ve healed properly, then.”

She put the finishing touches on his splint, examining it with her fingers to make sure it was secure. “The Ogre War?”

Rumpel nodded. He was surprised when she stopped moving and tilted her head to stare at him, her lips slightly parted.

“Three hundred-ish,” she said.

He blinked. “Yes?” 

“You’re talking about the First Ogre War,” she said, her eyes wide. “If you were injured when you were a man.” 

Rumpel shrugged and nodded again. 

She looked for all the world like she was about to cry. It couldn’t be on his behalf, he thought. Leaning her head against his knee, she sighed and pressed a kiss to his damaged calf. That ruined leg felt nothing but pain or numbness below the knee. Still, he swore he could feel the warmth of her lips. “Oh, Rumpel. I’m sorry. I guess… I just didn’t realize how old you actually are. That put it into perspective.” 

He could understand that. Words were one thing, but imagining him at an actual historical event she'd read about made it real. He was also trying to process the fact that she’d _kissed_ his _leg._

Shaking herself of whatever gloom had settled, Belle stood to pull back the covers, as straight-backed and proud-breasted as she was during daylight, and helped him in. Her face burned when he glanced at the folded set of nightclothes. She also pointedly ignored her discarded nightgown as she settled next to him. The few inches between them felt like leagues, and he yearned to feel more of her, all of her, pressed flush against him. 

“What if you have another temperature flare?” she said, answering his unasked question. “Then I’d just be changing your clothes again.” Her shrug was all too casual, and they regarded each other in silence. Then she scooted closer to him, pressing her naked form against his rough skin. He shivered as her arm settled on his belly, her hand on his chest. This was even more exquisite than the reverse had been, possibly because neither of them was dressed, but also because she acted like he was worthy of holding her. He knew he wasn't, but he could pretend. 

Belle’s fingertips ghosted along his collarbone, caressing him. He silently rejoiced when her right leg crossed over his; they were as entwined as it was possible to be without him being inside of her. Finally, after so many days and nights spent loving her from afar, lusting after her, she was wound around him like a wife would embrace her husband. 

A sigh escaped him. It almost sounded _wistful_. What he would give to be Belle’s husband in truth. To live a normal life with her, for her to be a mother to his long-lost Baelfire. 

“Are you all right?” she said again. 

Whispers in the night, held in the arms of someone he loved. Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes. Such lovely things were no longer meant for him. 

“I’m fine,” he said softly. 

Belle raised her head up, studying his face. “No,” she said at length. “You’re not. Are you uncomfortable with…?” 

She nodded toward his crotch, and he couldn’t help but chuckle as he encouraged her to lay down again. “No, that was a dream come true, quite literally.”

“You dreamed of that?” Belle said, feigning a scandalized expression. He gave her a flat look in response, making her giggle.

“Of course. I've dreamed of many, _many_ things I cannot have.”

She ran her fingertips over his throat. “Can’t you?” Her simple answer stole his breath. 

When he could speak again, he said in a hoarse whisper, “Good things... don’t happen to me, Belle. Something like this… surely there’s a price.” The thought devastated him. What would happen to balance these scales? What calamity would befall him for daring to corrupt her with his wretched, clinging darkness? 

She considered this, furrowing her brow. Then: “Perhaps the life you’ve had to bear alone for so long is the price you’ve paid for this.” 

This had never occurred to him, and his silence told her so. Had he really prepaid for his happily ever after by living several lifetimes of misery?

“You hurt so much, Rumpelstiltskin,” she said, sober as she gazed at him. “Whatever you’ve lived through, the pain of it is there all the time. I can see it in your eyes. Especially when you’re spinning.” 

It was disconcerting how very well she could read him. Clutching her closer, Rumpel pressed his face against her hair and tried to blot out all other thoughts. Belle was here, in this bed, curled up next to him and staying with him. He didn’t care why she was here, but he could not face a world in which this ever ended. He’d already lost so very much. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ever the caretaker, Belle started tracing patterns on his chest. He dared to reach up and take her hand, grinning like an idiot when he heard an unmistakably happy sigh. 

“Not really,” he said. Being host to the most powerful dark magic in the land hadn’t made him any braver. “I don’t understand any of this, but it’s also the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t want to jinx it.” 

“Being gravely injured is the best thing that's ever happened to you?” Belle said, arching an eyebrow. He could hear the smile in her voice. 

“You’re here,” he whispered, clutching her tighter still. “I never thought… never.” Suddenly, it was very important that she know something else. The urgency of it felt like a shock of cold water in his veins. “I didn’t bring you here for this.” 

He could hear her puzzlement. “For what?”

He flapped a vague hand at the bed, their discarded clothes. “This. I didn’t deal for you… for this. I would never have been capable, even at my worst.” Surely, she had to realize that.

Belle considered his pronouncement, making a humming noise in the back of her throat. That was one of the other things he loved about her: She _thought_ before responding.

“I wondered, of course. In the beginning. I stayed awake for the first few nights, waiting.” When she'd been relegated to the dungeon, yes, of course. Even though it made sense, the revelation she’d ever thought that of him was like taking his own dagger to the gut. 

It took him a few tries to speak, but finally he managed it. His tongue felt numb. “When … when did you come to think otherwise?” 

She lifted herself on one elbow to meet his gaze. “When you let Robin Hood go,” she said, as if it were obvious. 

“I didn’t let him go,” he said in protest, remembering that day spent pursuing the outlaw through Sherwood Forest with his own magical bow. It was also the day when she'd hugged him and everything -- _everything_ \-- changed. “I missed.”

“Oh, please.” She settled back down next to him, her softness molding perfectly against his wiry frame. “I realized you were trying so hard to present one version of yourself when underneath there was this kind, gentle man. One who let a thief live, even though he'd stolen your wand.” She rubbed her thumb against his hand. “One who saved me from a drunken brute, and who helped me in and out of the carriage like a proper gentleman. D’you know, that lovely man even gave me a library?”

“You think this man is lovely?” he said with a touch of the imp, unable to help himself. Nobody had ever paid him such a compliment before. He wanted to revel in it for a moment. 

“I do,” Belle said. “The loveliest man I know.” She turned her head to gaze at him. Like before, she had that expression of wanting to say something and holding the words back. 

“What is it?” he whispered. 

She was visibly nervous, but she took a deep breath and steeled herself. It still pained him that she _should_ be afraid of him, even if he didn’t want that. It was safer for her to fear him. “Do you know how scared I was tonight when you came home?” 

Rumpel was confused. Nothing about her earlier demeanor had indicated any fright. From what he knew of Belle, she wasn’t that good of an actress. “Scared of what?”

Her eyes welled with tears, and he made a sound of distress at the sight. 

Belle took a shuddering breath. “I’d never seen you like this before. To know that you can be hurt, that --” She cut herself off, hiding her face. He was horrified when she looked up again and he saw tear tracks glistening on her cheeks.

He wanted to reach for her, to hold her and reassure her with actions in ways he could not with words -- he was here, he wasn’t going anywhere. His body fought those good intentions; fatigue filled his limbs with stone, weighing him down to the soft mattress. Her tears _terrified_ him.

Words would have to do. “Belle,” he said, trying to inject as much confidence as he could when all he wanted to do was cower and hide, “I’m not going to die.” 

She still didn’t look at him. “I’m not,” he insisted. “I _can’t_. As long as I’m the Dark One, I can’t be killed. Well.” He huffed a laugh. “Almost. I can only be killed under a very specific set of circumstances that likely will not occur.”

Belle jerked in alarm, her wet eyes widening. “Shut _up_!” she hissed, waving her hands. “Rumpel, for Gods’ sake. I don’t want to know anything that can be used against you.”

Rumpelstiltskin recalled her kidnapping by the Queens of Darkness and -- his lip curling -- Regina’s attempts to sabotage their relationship. At least Cora didn’t know about her. _Yet_ , said a nasty voice in his head. Zoso, probably. The previous Dark One, the one he’d stabbed and replaced in this hellish existence, liked to tear the spinner down and make snarky comments to keep him in his place.

It was only then he realized he couldn’t hear the other Dark Ones. He’d heard their voices inside his head since he’d killed Zoso, their combined influence both overwhelming and insidious, like streams of oil slithering over his thoughts. Now, for once, his mind was quiet, and he realized it had been for hours. It was strange to know he was, truly, talking to himself after such a long time with unwanted companions. 

He returned his attention to Belle. If the other Dark Ones were silent for whatever reason, that meant he was having a private conversation with his maid for the very first time. Just him -- just Rumpelstiltskin. He hoped he was enough. “This is just a… a setback.” 

“A setback,” she echoed, skeptical. 

“I’ll be back to normal in no time.” He was desperate to reassure her, willing to say anything to dry her tears. “And then it’ll be like this never happened.” 

Apparently _that_ was the wrong thing to say, because her expression shuttered like she'd yanked the curtains closed in the Great Hall. That, of course, made him remember her soft body in his arms after she tumbled from the ladder, how they'd stared at each other in confusion. How he’d tried so hard not to look at her in the sun’s setting light.

“Is that what you want?” she said, her voice neutral. Even Rumpel, coward that he was, knew not to say yes. He’d lose her forever. 

_Do the brave thing._ It was advice he had seldom tried, but it seemed to work for his brave girl. With every bit of strength he had, Rumpelstiltskin lifted his hand to her cheek, thrilling when she pushed into his hesitant touch. “I meant … me, not... not us,” he stuttered, but it was enough. Belle beamed at him and he trailed into silence, smiling back, helpless in the face of her joy. 

“Belle…” he whispered, not sure what he could say that would encompass everything within his blackened heart. Their faces were so close. When had that happened? As they waited there, a breath apart, he realized he was far more terrified to be this close to a kiss than he’d been with her clever hands teasing his body to climax. 

And then she seemed to shake herself awake, drawing back hastily to kneel beside him on the bed. He moaned in dismay, but then he saw her expression was gravely serious. 

“The null spell,” she said after clearing her throat. 

Why was she talking? What was she saying? Rumpelstiltskin tried to focus, his eyes drawn back to her mouth. “What of it?”

“Will it nullify _all_ magic? Even the most powerful?” she said. There was something hard and urgent in her eyes when he glanced up from her lips, which made him frown. 

“Yes,” he said, confused. He thought it should, anyway.

“It nullified your magic as the Dark One.” 

He nodded, waiting for the punchline.

Belle visibly steeled herself. “What about something like… like true love’s kiss? Would it be able to overcome that?” She ended on a whisper, as if losing her courage. 

There was a ringing silence after those words during which they stared at each other. Her face was white except for the blazing pink of her cheeks. Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t think. There was a roaring sound inside his head, but whether it a rush of blood or the other Dark Ones screaming, he didn’t know. 

“What?” he finally managed to say. 

She hesitated, obvious indecision on her face. “I need you to — to keep a clear head, all right?”

“Belle,” he said in exasperation.

“Promise me?”

He sighed. “Fine.”

Still more silence. She seemed to be assessing his mood and was satisfied it would be her best reception.

“That day you sent me to town,” Belle said, picking her words with much deliberation, “a woman met me on the road. She knew who I was, Rumpel, but I’d never spoken with her except to offer tea.”

Tea? A visitor to the castle, then. That didn’t bode well.

After a visible swallow, Belle continued. “I'd seen her because she was here for lessons. She asked if I was running from my master.”

That startled him into full awareness. “Regina?” 

“She spoke of true love’s kiss,” Belle said softly. Her blue eyes were intent. “She said you were cursed, and that if you loved me, then you would’ve let me go.”

What could he say to that extraordinary pronouncement? She was right, of course. She always was.

“And that’s when I realized that you’d let me go because you -- you cared for me.” Her words tripped over one another; she was becoming increasingly nervous. For a few moments they just stared at each other, smiling hesitantly. It was true. He’d let her go. She’d returned. They both knew why.

But how did _Regina_ know? He was certain his successful experiment — bottling true love from the Charmings — was the first of its kind. He thought back to Regina’s visits to the castle, mentally reviewing how he’d interacted with Belle. Much as he hated to admit it, he was a smitten, red-faced youth around the girl no matter how hard he pretended otherwise. 

Perhaps his student had simply guessed.

“I came back to the castle because I had to. I _had_ to, Rumpel.” Belle’s fingers were in his curls again, and he welcomed the soothing touch, encouraging her. “I did research,” she continued. He remembered watching her stack magical tomes beside the chaise the night she returned from the market; he hadn’t understood the sudden interest or the way she took detailed notes. “I couldn’t take the risk of kissing you if it meant taking your power. But I was too much of a coward to say anything. And I... I was afraid of everything changing.” She sighed, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “We were kind of happy, weren’t we?”

“We were,” Rumpel said in agreement. He wondered at his reaction — or lack thereof, in terms of the Dark One's legendary rage. The silence in his head was rather well timed, if nothing more than for Belle’s safety. True love was anathema to the darkness, and his curse might not have taken well to her declaration. “Well, you were certainly in no risk of _me_ kissing _you_.”

“And why not?” Belle said, pretending to be affronted. He offered an exaggerated eye roll in return. 

“We both know _I’m_ the coward, Belle.”

She snorted, which made him chuckle. 

“I doubt you were ever truly a coward, Rumpel.”

“And how would you know?” He almost felt affronted at her assumption. He knew the cringing fear at his center, the wilting sham of a man he truly was.

“I wouldn’t, except for what I know of you.” Belle shrugged. She was still kneeling beside him, and he missed her warmth alongside his body. “You were brave enough to rescue me when I was kidnapped. A coward would have left me to perish.”

“Protecting my investment,” he said at once, out of habit. Three centuries of mindless self-abuse were difficult to overcome. Now it was Belle’s turn to roll her eyes as she reached out to take his hand.

“You fight for what you want,” she insisted. “I think you were desperately poor, in terrible pain, and out of options. Who else would've been brave enough to do as you did?”

It was another token of her kindness that she could view his hobbling or taking the dagger as _brave_ acts. Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes, seeing the iron hammer in his hands, feeling the heft and weight as he lifted it, right before he changed the course of his life forever.

He swallowed, hard. “Enough about that. Continue with your story,” he said, distracting himself by stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb. Touching someone and having them welcome his advances was a heady thing.

“Well, that’s it, really,” Belle said with a shrug, accepting the abrupt course correction. “From the ten minutes that she spent watching us interact, me as the maid and you as my master, Queen Regina deduced that we are true love. Maybe.” Her eyes flickered to his lips. “Potentially.” 

The longer he considered it, the likelier he knew it was. What could it be _but_ true love, for Belle to look beyond the Dark One’s vile exterior? He’d covered all those mirrors. He knew what he looked like.

“Who but you could care for a beast?” He still refused to say the word “love” aloud. Surely some god would smite him for daring to love her, someone so good and pure.

Belle sighed aloud. “You’re not a beast,” she said with the weariness of one who has said it many times before. “Not to say that sometimes you don’t _act_ like one.” 

“I do have terrible table manners,” he said, and she giggled. Once her laughter faded, she bit her lip and glanced down at the duvet. “You’re distracting me on purpose, Rumpel. What do you think?”

“Of what?” He knew what, of course. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Do you think my kiss would break your curse?” she whispered. She still didn’t meet his gaze. 

It took him far too long to say, in the quietest voice, “Yes.” 

“Would you like me to?”

He closed his eyes. It took every bit of his remaining strength to say, “No.” 

His heart cracked when she flinched, visibly hurt. “Oh.” She sounded resigned and small, and his arms tightened around her before she decided to flee. 

“It’s not what you think,” Rumpelstiltskin told her in a hoarse, strained voice. “Belle, please. It’s not the power. I’ll tell you everything, I swear it. Just please, please believe me.”

Belle’s eyes narrowed in calculation, and he could tell she was thinking very hard. After a few moments of terrible silence, she gave him a slow nod, making him sag in relief. “Yes, I believe you," she said. "Also, you never answered my question.”

“Your…?” 

“How long does the null spell last?” She sounded impatient. 

Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth to answer when he realized he had no idea. The initial spell was meant for Cora, who was nowhere near as strong as he was. It shouldn’t affect him the same way or with the same intensity, but it was also his own power reflected back at him.

Her gaze darted to his lips again. Then he realized what she meant as all the different pieces clicked together.

“You’re saying…” He felt absurd even giving voice to the notion. “You’re asking me how long the spell lasts… and whether the null spell would overpower true love’s kiss,” he said. Belle nodded, eager, and he went on, testing his theory aloud. “And you know that I have to keep the curse. I have to keep the power.”

“Yes,” Belle said. 

“You’re saying that you _want_ to kiss me?” he said, aghast. “Like — like this?”

She smiled, pleased that he’d finally caught up. “Yes, of course. If I only get to kiss you properly until the null spell wears off, then it seems a shame to waste you.” 

His mouth trembled as he quickly turned away. This was somehow far more intimate than anything they’d done together this incredible, wonderful, terrifying night. Belle gave him some privacy by focusing on the bedspread. 

“How can you want me like this?” Rumpel whispered. He sounded broken. 

She shrugged. “Because I love you,” she replied, matter of fact as always.

He closed his eyes. She’d said as much already in other words, but to hear _those_ words was nothing short of magical. For a moment he gloried in the fact that someone finally loved him. After being so alone for such a long time, someone loved him, and of all people, it was _Belle_. 

When he opened his eyes again, she was much closer, her body once again settled alongside his. But she waited for his permission. He ran over the concept in his head and reluctantly concurred with her deduction. The null spell would block any magical interference, no matter how strong. For what length of time, though… that was the question. He'd already spent hours suffering.

He stared at her, and she at him. 

_Worth it_ , he thought. _Every moment of it._

“Let me love you,” she whispered. “Please. While I can.” 

How could he deny her? He nodded, and she brushed her lips against his with the utmost tenderness. She tasted of springtime and sunshine and sweetness, and he reached up with one shaking hand to bury his fingers in her curls and gently pull her closer. For once, his mind was blissful and blank. All he could think of was her softness, the happy sighs she made as he taught her what little he knew about kissing. She imitated him at first, and then she began to experiment. He gasped when she ran her tongue along the seam of his lips, and she swallowed the sound with delight before her tongue darted into his mouth.

Rumpel pulled back, breathing hard. “Where did you learn _that_?”

Grinning, Belle leaned forward, eager to continue. “Obviously you haven’t read all the books in your library.”

He chuckled weakly. “Obviously not.” 

“Now let’s stop talking,” Belle said, and he tugged her closer. In his head he knew this was dangerous; the null spell could run its course at any moment, and nothing would be there block the devastating power of true love’s kiss. If they were true love, of course. 

Even if they weren’t, Rumpel knew he was lost. For three hundred years he had been singular in purpose, obsessed with his campaign to reach his son. Now it was like the axis of the world had shifted, everything now revolving around this precious girl. No matter what, he was already desperately in love with her. He would follow her anywhere, in this world or the next... after he found Baelfire. 

He was still damnably weak, but Belle took the reins and straddled his body without the slightest hesitation, apparently giving no thought to propriety or her rigid upbringing. She took his hands and propped them on her waist before leaning down to kiss him again, cradling his face and brushing her thumbs against his cheeks. He didn’t know when he'd started crying, but he supposed it was just as well. She’d seen him at his worst in every sense, now. 

“Are you all right?” she whispered. 

He nodded, unable to speak, and she pressed her lips to his, coaxing him to let her in. Her tongue sought out all the sensitive places in his mouth, places no one had ever explored. She moved her hips against him, driven by pure instinct and making him groan aloud like he was dying. Belle gasped against his mouth as his cock swelled beneath her, his length pressing against her core. 

“Please,” she said, sounding dazed. 

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t even speak and instead chose to run his tongue along her bottom lip and suck it between his own. He refused to hurt her. He didn’t care if everyone else thought he was a monster as long as Belle knew the truth. He would treat her with the utmost care. He would --

Every thought fled his mind when she reached between them to take him in hand. Her thumb stroked the tip of him, and he let out a breathless noise when she swiped a bead of wetness with her finger. Startled by his reaction, Belle gave him a nervous smile. “Sensitive?”

“Belle, we can’t --” He stopped talking when she put that same fingertip in her mouth. 

“We can’t what?” She rolled her hips again, bumping the head of his cock through her slick folds. It was then that he looked down, amazed. 

“You’re....” He reached before he realized what he was doing, but Belle tossed her head and let out a cry when his fingertips grazed her clit. Somehow, against all odds, she was aroused by this experience. 

His will was quickly crumbling. If he’d been hale and healthy, Rumpelstiltskin would’ve disappeared in a puff of smoke long before his naked maid clambered atop him. At present, he could hardly move. She was entirely in charge of this experience, and that knowledge both thrilled and terrified him. 

“Belle, we _can’t_ ,” he said, desperate. 

“Why not?” She ran her fingers up and down the length of his cock, watching in fascination as he shuddered beneath her. 

“I have to protect you,” he hissed out through gritted teeth. 

That made her stop short. “Protect me? From what?”

“Your virtue,” he gasped. 

His eyes widened when she actually laughed aloud. “Rumpel, for Gods’ sake. Did you know I could breach my maidenhead while horseback riding? Or perhaps during some enthusiastic dancing?” 

When he failed to respond, she tightened her grip, making his breath stutter in his chest. 

“Enthusiastic dancing, you say?” His voice was strangled. 

“I am _quite_ the dancer, Rumpel.” She smirked. 

He furrowed his brows as she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. “Don’t you want to save this? For… ” 

She was trading gentle sipping kisses with him now, falling into a rhythm as she stroked him. He whimpered. “For a husband? Really?”

“You should be with someone who makes you happy, Belle.” He forced the words out, his expression pained, and he looked away quickly. 

Belle’s shoulders slumped in exasperation and she sighed through her mouth. “Rumpel, _you_ make me happy. My virtue is something I choose to give away, and I choose to give it to you. I hardly see the point of waiting until marriage when we could be pleasuring each other _now_.” She smiled, her cheeks dimpling. “You can always solve the marriage problem if it bothers you so much.” 

He didn’t have the mental space necessary to process _that_ statement and instead chose a different tactic. “I can’t -- Belle, it’s been _years_ ,” he said in desperation. “I can’t possibly please you looking like --”

Belle kissed him soundly, her hands holding his face and cutting off his rant. “Rumpelstiltskin,” she whispered. “At night, when I’m alone in my bed, I think of you.” 

That startled him. “Excuse me?” Any nocturnal thoughts of him would have to be nightmares, surely.

She sat up and took one of his hands to guide it between them, and they both gasped when his knuckles grazed her curls. A delicious shiver ran through her, and his mind went blank. It had never felt like this with Milah. Cora had been enthusiastic, but she’d been riding lust and darkness. This was a reaction that couldn’t possibly be faked. 

“How?” He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud.

Belle began rubbing herself against his hand, looking shocked herself by the long, low moan that she made. Rumpel could only stare up at her in wonder as she chased her pleasure with artless abandon, wriggling and arching her body as she squeezed her eyes shut. “Please,” she gasped. “Rumpel, please.” 

“Please what?” He wasn’t trying to be coy. He didn’t have the other Dark Ones egging him on and telling him what to do. It was only with their assistance in his ear that he’d managed to halfway please Cora. Right now, he was begging for guidance. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“Every night,” Belle gasped, her hips moving in a tantalizing rhythm now, “every night I touch myself, and I pretend it’s you.” Her words were interrupted by her hitched breath, and nothing had ever sounded better. He gazed up at her in awe. “Such beautiful fingers. I watch you spin, and I go to bed and think about those fingers inside me...”

“Do you, now?” he said with a shade of his flamboyant self. Never in a thousand years would he have imagined his caretaker thinking such naughty thoughts -- about _him_ least of all. “Tell me, my little maid. What do I do when I touch you?”

Belle tossed her head, her hair flying as her body tensed. “Oh, Gods, Rumpel, _please_!” She grabbed his fingers and dragged them to her entrance, two of hers slipping inside with one of his. “Please!” 

Hardly daring to breathe, Rumpel kept his thumb on what he thought was her clit and crooked his forefinger, relishing her muscles clenching around him. 

Curling forward, Belle shuddered like a woman possessed. “More, love, please!”

He thrilled at the endearment, sliding another finger into her tight sheath. Keening, her teeth bared, Belle rode his hand with increasing speed and vigor, chanting “please” again and again.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Rumpel said, his accent thick in his effort. He tweaked her nipple, hard. The guttural sound she made in response surprised him to no end. “Come on!”

Belle’s entire body went rigid and she seemed to hang, suspended, before letting out a ragged cry that made him feel more powerful than sorcery. Her eyes opened, and they were so dark a blue they were almost black. 

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she gasped, “ _p_ _lease_.” 

His lungs were frozen in his chest. All he could do was stare at her, his mouth agape. She took his cock in her delicate hand, making him hiss, and rose on her shaking knees to line them up. This was happening. It was actually happening. 

Her other hand tipped his chin up so she could meet his eyes. She was tense, waiting. “Is this all right?”

Once again, she startled a laugh out of him. Belle took care of him. She would _always_ take care of him; she’d promised him forever. It would be very poor form not to take care of her in return. Even if his participatory skills were, at present, somewhat lacking.

“Yes,” he whispered. Suddenly he was desperate for this and needed it more than he needed to breathe. “Yes. _Yes._ Please, Belle.” 

The light in her eyes was the greatest praise he could imagine. Belle took a deep breath and fumbled between them, her fingers guiding the blunt head of his cock to her entrance. Rumpel could see the instinctive stiffening of her shoulders, her quick inhalation. She stayed there, motionless. 

Her channel was molten against the tip of him, and he ground his head into the pillow to relieve the pressure. Belle stared at him, afraid to move. 

Reaching toward where they were just barely joined, Rumpel brushed his fingers against her curls, seeking out the hard bud that made her jolt in pleasure. Soon enough she was pressing herself against his fingers, letting out a low moan as she lowered herself further, her sheath pulling him in. 

“Fuck,” Rumpel gasped, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands fisting the sheets. Belle’s mouth fell open at the uncharacteristic curse. 

“Yes,” she said. She was finally flush against him, full of him.

Sweat broke out on Rumpel’s forehead, and Belle leaned forward to smooth it away. That made her eyes widen as the angle changed yet again. Taking Rumpel’s hands from the sheets, she placed them on her hips for support before rising on her knees until he was barely inside her. Then she plunged back down in a smooth motion, making Rumpel yell out another strangled curse. 

“Oh Gods, _yes_ ,” Belle moaned, learning fast that she should roll her hips, watching in obvious satisfaction as her beloved’s face contorted in what she knew wasn't agony.

One of his hands left her hip to reach between them again, sliding two fingers against her swollen clit. She was filled to the brink when the spasm of her channel yanked him cock-first into heaven. Rumpel’s hips pulsed as he spilled himself deep within her, and Belle collapsed against him as she heaved for breath. He moaned when he softened enough to slip out of her. 

They stayed there for a while, breathing together, Rumpel clutching at her like he expected her to disappear. Eventually, Belle raised her head to meet his eyes, her smile tentative and yet still triumphant, almost blinding him. 

“Well, I don’t know about you,” she said, “but that was _much_ better than reading about it.”

The statement made Rumpelstiltskin laugh aloud, feeling happier than he could ever remember. His limbs were loose and languid, his face soft with affection as he gazed down at her.

“Smiles look good on you,” she said.

“I haven’t had much occasion for them before.” He pulled her closer, delighting in the way her warm skin felt against his. 

Belle snuggled against him with a sigh. “I’ll be changing that, thank you very much.”

He grinned against the crown of her head, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You… you enjoyed that, then?” He couldn’t stand the hint of insecurity in his tone. “I apologize for not being more… active.” 

For all the world, she looked smug. “Rumpel, that was better than I could’ve dreamed.” She ran a hand across his chest, and a smirk lit her lovely face. “Now I know I can get you out of those pants. Don’t think there won’t be repeat performances.”

“I’ll need at least a few minutes,” he told her with a chuckle. “The Dark One gives me increased stamina, but not that much.”

“And you aren’t even the Dark One right now,” she said. Her lips were pressed to his throat, and the vibration of her soft words made him tingle all over. “Not really. So your current level of stamina is rather impressive.”

His smile was a tiny one, a mere quirk of his lips, but he looked very pleased. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Idly stroking her arm, Rumpel gloried in her closeness, her softness, the way she smelled of roses and cinnamon and something uniquely _Belle_. He'd never found an item in the castle matching her scent, not once during his snoops through the kitchen and her bathing chamber. It was just her. 

“And you still want to be.” It wasn’t a question. When Rumpel raised an eyebrow at her, she said, “The Dark One, I mean.” Sighing, Belle reached up to stroke his cheek, her fingertips gentle and soothing against his rough skin. 

What she said next sent a bolt of pain through his chest. “I know this can’t happen again. You’ve been the Dark One for centuries. Why would you want to give that up? Even for…” She trailed off, pulling her hand away and resting it on his chest. Perhaps she felt his lungs shriveling beneath his skin. He heard the unsaid words. _Even for me._

He wanted to give it up for her. Desperately. Rumpelstiltskin wanted nothing more than to have Belle in his life, in his bed, bound to him as more than a caretaker. He wanted her established as the lady of his castle. As his… 

His wasted heart contracted, a lurching spasm in his chest. 

But _Bae._ He had to get to Bae, and he needed his power to do that. He couldn’t risk it. This was already foolish enough. 

An irritating voice in the back of his mind spoke up then: Bae was in the land without magic. He'd have to give up his power when he traveled there _anyway_. Regina would cast her spell within the next few years. Surely he could survive that long without the Dark One to protect him and the one he cared for most? 

Belle, cuddled against his side, couldn’t see the riot of emotions playing across his face. If he set aside the power before Regina cast the Dark Curse, an enemy could learn of his lesser state. If the Queens of Darkness kidnapped Belle again, he would be powerless to retrieve her or protect her, much less punish the interlopers. 

“I want this so much,” he whispered. “But Belle, we _can’t._ We can’t.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than her. He clutched her closer, almost desperate as he held her, his face pressed against her hair. 

“Too tight, Rumpel,” she said in protest. He had to be on the verge of snapping her bones in his distress, and he loosened his grip with a sheepish expression. 

“I can’t abandon him again, Belle.” His voice was quiet, solemn. “I can’t fail him.”

Belle’s confusion was palpable. “You mean your son, don’t you? But I thought—”

“He’s lost, Belle. Not dead. I need to get him back.”

They stared at each other. Rumpel looked at her lips. He’d tasted them already, couldn’t touch her until he found the way to Baelfire, but everything within him was desperate to be inside of her again, filling her and touching her and kissing her until his lungs burned for air.

And now he couldn’t risk it. They might not even be true love, and he’d be denying them both unnecessarily. He thought of Charming’s single hair merging with Snow’s, and he realized that experiment likely wouldn’t work for him at present because his curse was dampened.

If he managed to keep his lips away from Belle’s until the spell wore off, he could check their hairs at that point… but then, what if they _were_ true love, and they’d wasted this precious time when they could be together with his curse intact?

Surely a spell existed to counteract true love’s kiss, he thought. Though who before had ever wanted to _avoid_ its blessing, if they even found true love at all?

Sensing his turmoil, Belle scooted away from him — it was the loss of her warmth that made him snap. He couldn’t be without her. He _wouldn’t._

Rumple pulled her toward him, ignoring her squeak of surprise. It was so wonderful — dizzying, even — to hold her close after so many months of fighting it. Her lips against his were heavenly, the most perfect thing he’d ever felt. The love he felt for this difficult little woman was more than he could bear.

When she pulled away to breathe, her eyes widened.

“Rumpel?” she said, confused and a tad fearful. 

He squinted at her before screwing his eyes shut. “What’s happening?” he murmured as warmth flowed from his lips out over his face, like he was stepping into sunlight. 

The room was dim, most of the candles long having burnt out, but Belle rolled over to grab the closest one on the nightstand. His eyes flew open at her gasp. 

“Your -- your skin,” she stammered. She herself was as white as the sheets beneath them. “You look…” 

A feeling of dread stole over him as he peered at his hand, his jaw falling open as he saw tanned, weathered skin revealing itself beneath the disappearing green and gold. “No,” he whispered, fear clenching his gut. “No, no, no, no, no. It can’t be.” He met Belle’s eyes again. She looked anguished, watching with him as the curse dissolved, slipping from his features. 

One kiss. One extra kiss was all he’d needed to shore himself against the months and years of loneliness ahead, but now… now it didn’t matter.

When it was done, he fell back against the pillows in exhaustion and stared up at the canopy in blank horror. Even his vision was different, now. It occurred to him that the pain throughout his body had dissipated, though his ankle felt just as terrible as it had before. 

It was so quiet.

“What just happened?” Belle whispered. 

He let out a humorless laugh. “We broke my curse.” Even his voice was different. It was lower, softer. “I believe that’s what they call ‘true love’s kiss,’ dearie.” 

Rumpel couldn’t help but glance sidelong at Belle to see her reaction to that pronouncement, and he was again astonished to see her eyes light up, sheer joy stifled at once by dismay. “But... you’re unhappy.”

It was quite the understatement, and he took a moment to collect himself. “Am I?”

“‘Dearie,’” she said, arching a brow. 

“I saw it,” he said. His voice was rough, trembling with emotion. “Belle, I _saw_ it. I’m supposed to be reunited with my son in the land without magic. How am I going to do that when I don’t have magic?” She could see his desperation, the panic welling within him, and she scooted closer to take his hand. The touch seemed to ground him, though he was mumbling under his breath, becoming more and more agitated. 

“What do you mean, Rumpel?” She couldn’t stop touching him. She seemed to be taking his transformation in stride, drinking in his countenance with the intensity of a painter in front of a most illuminating muse. Her hands ran over his face, his throat, and she stroked his newly straightened hair.

Closing his eyes briefly, Rumpelstiltskin heaved a sigh. “I still owe you a story.” When she didn’t say anything, he elaborated. “About my son.” 

He knew Belle remembered that day he’d sent her to town for straw, not expecting her to return. He had satisfied the terms of the deal with the barest version possible -- “I lost him” -- and she had resigned herself to the mystery.

Rumpel pulled her into his arms, startling at his skin every time he saw it. He was thankful that she pulled the covers up and snuggled into him. Every time he tried to face the fact that they had broken his curse with true love, of all things, the sheer enormity of it threatened to break him. 

He told her the entire sordid tale, starting from his injury during the First Ogre War and the Seer and ending with Bae falling into a whirling green portal. It had been so long that he had thought the story through from beginning to end, much less told anyone, that he was gasping before he finished. His entire body was wracked with sobs as he relived the loss of his precious boy. 

“Oh, Rumpel,” Belle whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

She let him cry himself out, holding him tight. It took quite some time. They both fell silent, trying to process this major shift in their lives. 

“Come on,” Belle finally said. “Up.”

Rumpelstiltskin felt waterlogged, his nose stuffed, his eyes red-rimmed and bleary. “What?”

“Up. Let’s go.” She helped his trembling body out of bed, across the room, and back into the washroom. Touching the tub, she asked the castle for hot water, please. He marveled over the polite tone she always used when speaking with an inanimate object.

“A bath, Belle? _Now_?” He sounded like he had a flu, hoarse and raspy.

She didn’t even dignify him with a response; she just helped him into the tub after removing the bandages from his ankle and settled him in before climbing in after him, much to his breathless amazement. She wiggled her back against his front in a way that threatened to rouse him before she sighed and relaxed, pulling his arms around her waist. He clasped his fingers together over her belly, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder.

“Feel better?” 

He sighed. “I don’t know how to feel.”

For a few minutes, she didn’t say anything. She just stroked his hands, letting him acclimate to having her so close.

“Rumpel,” Belle said after a long while, her voice hesitant. “Regina is the one to cast the curse, yes?”

A horrific thrill ran through him before Rumpelstiltskin pushed the thought away: He could go to Bae now, this very moment, if he sacrificed Belle’s heart for the Dark Curse. He almost gagged and gathered her tighter against him, water sloshing over the rim of the copper tub. Never. _Never._

“Yes,” he croaked. “She’s the one to cast it. I haven’t given her the scroll yet, though. There’s still time.” Time before he ripped the world apart through the hands of his former student. He felt responsible for Regina and her monstrous thirst for vengeance; before Belle, he would have soundly ignored the twinge of his long-dormant conscience.

“And we’ll be cursed for twenty-eight years,” Belle said, sounding glum. “I won’t know who you are?”

He sighed. “I’ll be writing some new provisions into it, of course. There’s no way I can…” 

“Can…?” Belle said, prompting him when he trailed off. 

He hesitated before resting his chin on her shoulder, still tentative even though he had definitive proof of her feelings. He kissed her cheek, and her giddy smile delighted him.

“I can’t let you go again,” he whispered. “Not now.” 

She seemed very pleased, but she also had something to say and would not be derailed. “If Regina is the one to cast the curse, why would _you_ need magic? Surely you can still provide instruction.” 

Rumpelstiltskin was a bit gobsmacked by her casual assertion that he didn’t need magic, but Belle wasn’t done. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but she turned in his arms and gathered the sponge and soap from beside the tub. “Also, haven’t you spent the last three hundred years with all those magical texts?” She distracted him from her questions by washing him once more, examining his human body with as much reverence and devotion as she had earlier that night, when he’d looked like a demon from hell. “Haven’t you learned much beside what was given to you as the Dark One?” 

He frowned as he considered this, though it was difficult to concentrate when she was eliciting such lovely sensations in him, warmth and comfort and _home_. Everything about Belle said “home” to him. Her delicate hands were too distracting, so he took the sponge from her for his own sanity rather than her comfort. And beneath everything was the speechless terror that he might never see his son again.

He could only distract himself with other thoughts, and thinking of Belle was how he wouldn’t lose his mind at what he might’ve cost himself while consumed by lust. “My turn.”

Though it was the perfect opportunity to touch her at his leisure, to finally gaze upon her without having to duck his head and hide his stare. Her expression was a heady mixture of happiness, shyness, and excitement. With a quick nod, she handed over the soap before sitting back and awaiting his next move.

As he raised the dripping sponge to her shoulder, he watched her face for any sign of rejection. In a low voice, he said, “So what is your point, dearest?”

She beamed at the endearment and shivered as he dragged the sponge across her clavicles. “So you should be able to still do magic,” Belle told him, her eyes sliding closed as the sponge dipped lower across her belly. “Magic loves those it touches. You’ve lived with magic for three hundred years, surely it rubbed off.” At his thunderstruck expression, she shrugged. “I read that in one of your texts.” 

He vaguely recalled the book to which she was referring and was terrified to test her theory; his stilling hands were proof of this. He felt different without the weight of his curse, lighter and freer despite the exhaustion pulling at him. Pain thudded through his leg, but that was to be expected. Frowning in his concentration, closing his eyes, Rumpelstiltskin decided to start there. Belle waited, saying nothing. 

She waited. And waited. He made no big movements, no flourishing gestures with his hands. He seemed to be exploring somewhere deep inside his own head. Beneath the water, she saw his right hand glow gold and wave in a slow, halting arc from his knee to his mangled foot. She raised her eyebrows. It had always been purple, his magic. Now...

“Are you all right?” she said, looking anxious.

He still didn’t say anything; instead, he flexed his hand again, a swirl of gold splashing out of the tub and into the air, where it hovered lazily above them. Belle laughed aloud when it coalesced into a ball and then burst into rose petals that floated down onto their heads and the water’s surface. 

“Belle,” Rumpel finally said, raising his head, his eyes holding only disbelief, “you were right.”

She gasped, a smile dawning on her face as she reached forward to pluck some petals out of his hair. “Your leg?”

The appearance of his leg hadn’t changed, the bones still fused in their broken formation. By the time he'd become the Dark One and had magic at his fingertips, his leg was too far gone to heal without breaking it anew. He couldn’t face that level of pain again. It was easier to numb it, to bolster it with magic. Flexing his foot beneath the water, Rumpel wiggled his toes and tested his range of motion. “Good as new.” A bit achy to be sure, but it had been quite the evening.

Belle let out a joyous squeal and flung her arms around his neck. Her exuberance made him chuckle, as it always did. The sound of raining water as it sloshed over the copper tub made him laugh harder. His arms snaked around her waist as he hauled her closer. Normally he would never impose himself on Belle, but she looked so happy to be there that he decided it was permissible to cross those normal boundaries. 

They’d also made love, which certainly changed their relationship.

As her lips pressed against his jaw, Rumpelstiltskin realized that everything he’d ever wanted was within his grasp. When he’d been a human man, all he’d aspired to was to be a good father and a good husband. Unfortunately, he’d been neither. 

Perhaps he had another chance.

“I can still find him, Belle.” The relief in his voice was terribly obvious, and he wondered just how he would have reacted had he not been touched by magic. If Bae were lost to him, how much would be left for Belle to scrape together? He’d be nothing but dust.

“You still have your power.” There was nothing in her eyes but compassion and understanding. How could he have lived for so long without this precious woman’s light to guide him? To warm him down to his very bones? To be without her now would be to accept a life devoid of color, a cold and brutal existence where he clung to the edge of sanity with his blackened claws.

He reached out to loop a damp curl behind her ear, his fingertips trailing down the side of her throat. Belle shivered, but her satisfied grin told him it wasn’t from cold.

“Would you come with me, Belle?” The words were quiet, so soft. When she refused, he could at least pretend he hadn’t said anything. 

“Of course,” she replied, like it was obvious. 

He blinked. “I haven’t even told you where we’re going.”

Belle shrugged. “Wherever you’re going is where I want to be.”

He swallowed hard, unable to fathom this development. Everything was turning up so fast, he couldn’t accept one great thing before being faced with another. “What if I want to go diving in the middle of the Southern Sea?” He couldn’t help his shy smile. 

“Then we’ll go diving,” she said, rising to his challenge.

“What about climbing the ice mountains in Arendelle?”

“Then we’ll climb the ice mountains.” She was trying her best not to laugh. 

“What about—”

She cut him off by twisting in his arms to press a sound kiss to his lips. When she pulled back to let him breathe, she said, “Rumpel, _really_ . Why would I stay in this drafty old castle _alone_? I’d end up talking to myself again. Or the teapot and the clock.”

He frowned. “The teapot and the clock?”

“Remember, at the beginning of our deal? You left me alone for days on end. You didn’t know how to talk to me, and I had to talk to _someone._ ” She smirked. “I’m quite good company, if I say so myself.”

Rumpelstiltskin threaded his fingers through her wet curls, pushing a few strands behind her ear and smiling as she blushed so prettily. “Surely you’d return to your father instead of gathering dust here by yourself,” he said, bemused. He flinched as Belle jumped to alertness, splashing the water as her eyes blazed with misplaced anger.

“Why would I return to my father? Rumple, don’t you dare think of leaving me while you go adventuring. I’ll not stand for it.” She crossed her arms underneath her breasts, setting her jaw. Reaching forward, he took her by the wrists, his grip gentle, and untangled her arms to pull her closer. 

“No, no, dearest — I only meant if you didn’t want to accompany me.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at her furious expression, though she softened a bit when he called her that. An angry Belle was familiar territory. “That’s the only reason I thought…”

She shook her head, as if clearing it. Like she couldn’t fathom his stupidity. “... that I would want to go home? Rumpelstiltskin,” she said, gripping his upper arms as she had earlier that evening, “Avonlea isn’t my home. It hasn’t been for quite some time.”

He had no idea he could feel _happier_ , but of course Belle could manage that. She could manage anything. “The Dark Castle is your home?” he whispered.

Belle smiled in that indulgent way of hers. “No, Rumpel. _You_ are my home. Wherever you are, there I’ll be, and I’ll be home.”

He couldn’t speak for a solid minute, so choked by emotion was he: gratitude and joy and a lightness he had never experienced before. By the time his voice returned, Belle reclaimed her spot between his legs and rested her back against his chest. She also grabbed his hands and wound them around her waist so he could interlace his fingers across her belly. He happily obliged.

“What if I go to the land without magic?” he said in a whisper. 

She gave another shrug. “Then we go to the land without magic.” Looking at him over her shoulder, she offered him a cheeky grin. “I’m sure they use gold there. We should be all set while we search for Baelfire.”

His outward expression hardly reflected his inner turmoil, the sheer disbelief that rocked him at her casual words. Nobody, _ever_ , had offered to help find his son. Rumpelstiltskin had been atoning for his own foolish mistakes his entire miserable life, and now someone wanted to take his hand, to help him? To journey to another world with him, never to return? 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said. He was making a remarkably poor case, but he couldn’t bear it if someday she regretted shackling herself to him. “You won’t be able to come back, Belle. You’ll never see your father or your kingdom ever again.” 

She snorted. “Isn’t that the case already? It’ll hardly feel any different.” 

“I’m serious, Belle. You’re a free woman. You can do whatever you like.”

She hummed, leaning back. “Anything?” she said, her tone playful.

He did not know if he’d ever couched anything in such an open-ended term before, perhaps only ever with Baelfire. Only when he knew the other person would never, ever hurt him. “Anything.”

Taking his hands in hers, Belle raised them to her lips and kissed his fingers. The soft, delicate gesture made tears burn in his eyes and the back of his throat.

“I want this,” she said. “You, this, _us_ … forever. I don’t care where or how. Just please, take me with you, wherever you go.” 

Swallowing his tears, Rumpelstiltskin cleared his throat. “I would be honored if you accompanied me, sweetheart. There’s nothing I’d like more.”

They fell silent, but before long, Belle asked, “Rumpel, are you all right?”

He couldn’t help chuckling. After everything that had happened tonight, she was still unsure?

“I’m all right,” he said, squeezing her tiny body for emphasis and delighting in her squeak. Settling himself back in the warm water with his lady-love, he let out a happy sigh. “I’m perfect.”


End file.
